Tim & Lyla: Happily Ever After
by FlyersGirl1
Summary: This is likely only for the few - and proud -  Tim-Lyla fans; not much out there for us. This relies on canon through mid-Season 4, but then departs for an alternate reality, the one that should have naturally followed Season 3, in my view.
1. Chapter 1

Tim sighs and looks down. He kneads an old, worn football between his hands. Lyla watches him from across the kitchen island, her eyes moist. She sits down on a bar stool. Willing herself to stop crying. Do not do this, Lyla Garrity, do not do this.

"I thought we wanted the same thing," Tim finally speaks, haltingly, quietly. He looks at her, his deep green eyes reflecting a vulnerability that he has only ever let one woman see - the woman sitting before him now, brushing tears out of her eyes.

"We do, Tim," Lyla says. She hears her pleading tone and stops. She takes a deep breath. "We do. I just - how can I turn down this opportunity? I can't. It's everything that I've worked for - that you - that you pushed me towards."

"Because I thought we'd be together at the end of it, that you'd - that you'd go off and live your life and come back to me, be happy here, with me, with this," he gestures around them, his voice starting to break. He stops himself and looks back down at the football that he's pressing into. Almost desperately.

Lyla's eyes follow his gaze. It's true - he's done so much with this place. Built it from scratch. With Billy. For them.

"I never promised that I'd come back here," she says. "I never - you thought - I never promised you that -"

"Then what did we do all of this for?" he interrupts her, looking at her. Wildly, she thinks. Angrily. "This - you and me - everything. What the fuck are we here for?"

"Because I love you," she can't believe the words that are coming out of his mouth. "Because you love me. Because -" she splutters. "Because we have to be together."

"Do we?" he looks up at her. "I've always thought so," he speaks slowly, looking up at the ceiling and then back down at her. "But, you know, I think I've always wanted it more than you. And maybe that's the problem here."

Lyla stares at him.

"You want me to be something I'm not; you've always wanted that. You pushed me - you pushed me to go to college," he spits the words out as if they are venom. "When I didn't make it there, you made it very clear that we wouldn't have any future together unless I got my shit together, went back to school, went back to football. And I did. For you. To be good enough for you."

Lyla continues to look at him blankly - she doesn't know him right now.

Tim continues. "And now you're - now I'm supposed to - now that I'm finally almost there, I'm supposed to, what - follow you to Austin?"

Lyla pauses, staring at him like he's a stranger. "You're missing a few plot points there, Tim," she says slowly. "Like how I dropped everything to run back to Dillon when you were arrested, how I begged my dad to intervene with the state's attorney's office, how I pushed you," she mimics him, "to go back to San Antonio because the only alternative for you was prison." She stops and shakes her head, glaring at him. "For me? You did it for me?"

"I did," Tim replies, returning her glare head-on. "Because I would've been okay with prison. Billy and I fucked up, and I was prepared to - to -"

"Prepared to what, Tim? Spend a few years in an orange jumpsuit? Bullshit," she gets up, pushing herself away from the bar stool with such force that it clatters to the ground. Lyla doesn't bother picking it up. She doesn't even look at it. She can't look away from this beautiful boy - he's a man now, isn't he? - whom she has loved for so many years. She knows him better than she has ever known anyone, better than anyone else has ever known Tim Riggins. She knows that he had nightmares for months after Jason Street was injured in that first game of the long-ago high school football season (the Dillon Panthers State Champions!), that bittersweet season that changed everything for Jason, Tim and Lyla. She knows that, when he sleeps, if you catch him at the right moment, in the early daylight hours, when his eyes close extra-tight and he frowns and presses himself tightly against her, he's being abandoned all over again by his father, and then his mother. She knows that he's been let down by almost everyone he's ever loved, and that he loves her anyway. Intensely. Recklessly. Without boundaries. How can be so far away from her right now? Why is he being so cruel?

"Fuck you, Tim," Lyla says. Tim's eyes widen; his long fingers dig into the old leather of the football more deeply. Lyla grips the edge of the kitchen island tightly and takes a deep breath. "I have always believed in you," she finally says. "When people told me not to trust you, told me that you'd - that you'd hurt me, I didn't listen. I believed in you. I loved you. I love you. That's why I pushed you into going to college, into going back to college - because I think you deserve better than prison. I think you are worth something."

They look at each other in silence.

When Tim speaks, his voice is quiet again. "I'm sorry. I'm grateful for what you did for me, Lyla. I am. It was the right thing for me - going back to school. Playing football. I just - I feel like I built my life around this, you know? Being with you."

"I know," she nods. "I know that, and I - I love you so much."

He doesn't respond. The words ring in his ears. I love you so much. The words he'd spoken to her when he'd convinced her to leave him behind and go to Vanderbilt four years ago. And when she cried into his arms during their senior year, when her whole world was falling apart around her - her family gone, her father throwing away her college money on a lark. The words he'd never imagined that she'd utter to him when they first made love - fucked, really; it wasn't making love, not for her, at least - back when she was Jason Street's girl. I love you so much.

Lyla interrupts his thoughts. "Tim, it's three years. It's not a lifetime, it's three years," she crosses the seemingly miles-long divide of the kitchen island and takes the football out of his hands. She touches his cheek. His skin is warm, soft - it's so familiar to her.

"What about this place? Billy, Stevie, the twins?" he looks down at her.

"They'll be here when we get back."

"Are we coming back? Are you coming back?" he steps back away from her.

"Tim, yes, I - yes."

"Really? Because I thought you'd be coming back after you graduated, and here we are."

"Here we are," Lyla repeats. She can't believe this is happening. She tries again. "Tim - they want me to give them a three-year commitment. This can lead to bigger things."

"In Dillon?" he is incredulous.

"Maybe," she responds. "Maybe not," she finally adds.

He nods knowingly. "Maybe not," he repeats softly. He touches the granite of the island - it's smooth. Cold. Impersonal. He didn't want granite here. He did it for Lyla. She likes this sort of thing - trendy, yuppy. Professional. Something a college graduate would have in his kitchen.

He looks at her. "Go. You should go."

Her eyes are wide, blank. The reality of his words hit her. Hard. It's a punch in the gut. She shakes her head, as if to will away the meaning of those words. Go. She remembers like it was yesterday - the conversation at Billy and Mindy's wedding - go. Go to Vanderbilt. Don't let me be that guy. Don't let me hold you back. Tears start falling. She can't stop them now. She doesn't even try.

Tim looks away; he doesn't want her to see the tears starting to form in his own eyes.

"Tim, don't do this, please," she hears herself plead. She doesn't care. "Please, please - I love you. Please don't do this. How am I supposed to do this without you? Please."

"I can't," Tim shakes his head; he can't look at her. "I can't go with you. I don't belong in Austin. I belong here."

"You belong with me," Lyla says. She cringes at the harshness of her voice, hating how desperate she sounds right now. "Please," her voice breaks, and she can't hold it together anymore. She is sobbing.

Tim puts his arms around her and pulls her close. It's a reflex, he can't help himself. He holds her tightly. His strong arms close in around her to protect her. They have always protected her. From the first night, so many years ago, when she fell into his arms sobbing - that awful night in the rain - after Jason was hurt. He has loved her forever.

Lyla's fists grab at the thin, soft fabric of Tim's tee shirt. It's emblazoned with an old, faded Dillon Panthers logo. Lyla holds onto that tee shirt tightly. She feels the strength of his body - molded by years of football and weight training - against her. Lyla cries against him like her entire world is falling apart. It is.


	2. Chapter 2

Lyla sits at the bar. She twirls a glass with ice in front of her. She is alone. The bartender glances up at her, as she motions for a refill. "Same?" he asks.

She nods. She watches as he pours a Stoli on the rocks for her. This is a Vanderbilt habit. Vanderbilt girls like to drink. It makes flirting with fraternity guys easier. It makes forgetting easier - forgetting about old boyfriends, football players who break your heart when they go off to college and stop calling. It makes pretending that you're over him easier. Lyla understands why Tim drank so much in high school. It makes everything hurt less.

She takes a sip of her second refill. She hears her name being called. She ignores it.

"Lyla Garrity, hello? Earth to Lyla Garrity," Tyra Collette pokes her.

"Tyra, hi," Lyla turns around. Her smile is wan.

"Well, that's not quite the welcome I'd expect from someone I haven't seen in - in - well, how long's it been anyway?" Tyra grins and gives her a hug.

A frenemy hug, Lyla notes. "Last summer, I guess," she says, trying to lighten her tone. "When did you get home?"

"Two days ago. Man, am I done. Done. Tyra Collette, college graduate, thank you very much!"

"Congratulations," Lyla smiles. She gestures to the barstool next to her, "Please."

"Sure, for a few minutes anyway," Tyra hops up onto the stool. "I'm meeting Julie here - she and Matt are in town for a few days to see his grandma."

"That's nice," Lyla says. "Julie and Matt - where . . . are they now?"

"Chicago," Tyra says, tapping her fingernails against the top of the bar. "Julie's finishing up school; Matt's working for some art designer. Or something like that," she cocks her head to the side and narrows her eyes. "So what's up with you? Why are you sitting here, drinking -" she pauses, trying to make out exactly what is in Lyla's almost-empty glass.

"Stoli," Lyla offers shortly, raising her glass to Tyra.

"Stoli - alone? Where's Mr. Garrity? Haven't seen his butt around the house helping with the babies at all, by the way. Not cool, Lyla, not cool."

"I don't know," Lyla stares back down at her glass.

"Stoli for me too, please, rocks is fine," Tyra looks at the bartender as he approaches them. "So, where is he?" Tyra turns back to Lyla. "I should have known he'd be sitting here in a bar rather than volunteering to babysit."

"If you're looking for Tim, he's not here, Tyra; I don't know where he is," Lyla shrugs.

Tyra pauses and wrinkles her nose. "Um, so what exactly are you - what - who are here with? Thanks," she nods at the bartender as he deposits a Stoli on the rocks in front of her.

"Me, myself, and I," Lyla smirks and raises her glass, downing the rest of the vodka. She motions for another refill.

"Okay," Tyra says slowly. "So," she smiles brightly, "congratulations are in order for you, too, right?"

Lyla smiles and nods. "Right, graduated. Done. Crazy, huh?"

"Four long years," Tyra agrees, sighing. "Can't believe it's over."

"Me neither," Lyla says.

"So are you home for good or what?" Tyra asks, checking behind her for Julie before sipping her vodka.

"Or what," Lyla responds. "Heading to Austin, actually. I'm - um - working for the governor's chief of staff. I'm going to be a legislative assistant. Or something like that," she laughs.

"Wow," Tyra raises an eyebrow in exaggerated surprise. "I'm impressed, Garrity. Well, Austin's pretty cool. I can give y'all some neighborhood tips, if you like. Some place close to a bar, for Tim's sake. What's he going to be doing there, anyway? I mean I can't believe he's leaving Dillon."

"He's not," Lyla twirls her glass on the bar, watching as the condensation from the ice forms a circle at the bottom of the glass. "I'm going alone."

"Well, after he graduates, I mean," Tyra narrows her eyes. "Obviously."

"I know what you mean," Lyla nods stiffly. Obviously, I know what you mean. I'm the reason he's going to graduate at all. And for Tim Riggins, graduating in five years (well, four-and-a-half years, because, as Tim always points out, he missed half-a-year fucking around and running a chop shop) is a fucking miracle. "He's not going with me," she continues. "I'm going alone."

"Okay, Garrity," Tyra says slowly. "I'm sensing an elephant in the room here. What's going on with you and Tim?"

"We broke up," Lyla responds. She doesn't look up from her glass. Beads of water run down the sides. She feels the wetness on her fingertips.

"No," Tyra shakes her head. "Nope. That's not possible. Y'all are, like, the annoying golden couple that everyone hates. The big college football player and his sorority girlfriend," she rolls her eyes.

Lyla smirks. "Seriously? Because, you know, I'm not in a sorority. Never have been."

"Well, you're a former cheerleader, so you know, it's the same thing," Tyra shrugs. "It doesn't get any lamer than a football player dating a cheerleader," she snorts. "And you dated two of them. Back to back. Who were best friends. You could start your own sorority, the way I see it," she flashes Lyla a fake smile.

Lyla doesn't respond.

"Anyway, whatever," Tyra continues, "y'all cannot possibly be broken up. I would've heard about it."

"Really?" Lyla looks amused. Momentarily. "Because I'm pretty sure we are. I was there."

Tyra puts down her glass and stares at her. "For real?"

"For real," Lyla nods.

"When?"

"Two days ago," Lyla responds slowly.

"What happened?" Tyra asks. "I mean, none of my business, I guess, but - what happened?"

Lyla laughs shortly. "Life."

"I can't believe Mindy didn't say anything. I mean, I was just there. Seriously, I just left Mindy and Billy's place. Are they sworn to secrecy or something?"

Lyla shrugs, taking another swig of her vodka.

Tyra watches her. "Just how many of those are you planning to have?"

"Not sure yet," Lyla responds.

"Look, Lyla - we haven't always been the closest of friends, but -"

"Haven't we?" Lyla raises her eyebrows and glances over at Tyra. "I mean, we have so much in common." She pauses. "We're both in love with Tim, right?"

Tyra's eyes widen. She looks away. "I don't even - I don't know how to respond to that," she says. "No, I'm not, I'm - do you think that - do you think that I've been pining away for him all these years?" she glares at Lyla.

Lyla sighs. "I don't know, Tyra. Look, sorry. Forget I said anything. I'm just a silly former cheerleader. I should - I should go." She gestures for her check.

Tyra is immobile, watching her. Lyla finishes her drink, and pulls two twenty-dollar bills out of her wallet, throwing them down on the table. "This should cover both of our tabs," she looks at Tyra. "I'm sorry." She isn't really all that sorry.

"Lyla, I don't want your boyfriend," Tyra snaps. "And buying me a drink doesn't make you any less of a bitch for throwing my past with him in my face."

"Ex-boyfriend. And if I'm wrong, why are you so upset?" Lyla leans toward Tyra, within an inch of her face, as she slides off of her barstool.

"Because Tim and I are friends. We're family now, actually," Tyra is hostile. "And you're - well, you're -"

"The one he loves," Lyla finishes for her without any of the glee she might once have taken in putting Tyra in her place. "I'm sorry. Take care, Tyra. Say hi to Julie for me."


	3. Chapter 3

"What the hell, Mindy? Tim broke up with Lyla Garrity, and you didn't tell me?" Tyra pushes past Mindy into the Riggins' living room.

"What are you talking about, Ty?" Mindy stares at Tyra blankly. She carries a screeching one-year-old under one arm with another one clinging to her legs.

"Come here, sweet-pea," Tyra holds out her arms and takes the little girl in Mindy's arms. She kisses her head and bounces her up and down. The baby quiets down. "Tim and Lyla . . .?" Tyra looks at her sister expectantly.

Mindy leans over and picks up the other one-year-old. She kicks a toy out of her path, and sits down on the living room couch. She sighs as she settles the baby on her lap. "I don't know what you're talking about," she shakes her head. "Tim and Lyla are fine. He was just down there - you're okay, sweetie," she tickles her little boy as he fusses, "down there at Vanderbilt for her graduation."

"Well, I just ran into Lyla Garrity at Smitty's - and she says different," Tyra sits down in a chair across from Mindy, popping the baby girl on her lap. "Between drinking herself to death and being a total bitch," she mutters to herself. She pauses before looking back at Mindy. "You mean, you actually don't know?" she raises an eyebrow.

"Know what?" Mindy looks annoyed. "Henry, don't, sweetie, don't pull Mommy's hair."

"They broke up," Tyra says insistently.

"No," Mindy shakes her head. "That's not possible - we'd know; Billy would know; Billy," she calls to the back bedroom. "Will you please come out here and help me with the twins!" It's not a question.

"Mindy, they broke up, for real," Tyra says. "Tim didn't tell you?" she asks. "Wow. Tim didn't tell y'all?"

"Didn't tell us all what?" Billy Riggins wanders out of the back bedroom, rubbing his eyes. "Sorry, hon, was taking a nap. I'm exhausted," he pulls Henry from Mindy's lap and kisses him on the head.

"You're exhausted?" Mindy snorts. "Are you hearing this?" she looks at Tyra and shakes her head. "He's unbelievable." Mindy looks back at Billy. "Tyra's talking some nonsense about Tim and Lyla."

"It's not nonsense," Tyra says. She looks up at Billy. "Have you talked to Tim?"

"'Bout what?" Billy yawns and heads over to the kitchen.

"Lyla Garrity?" Tyra is exasperated. "His girlfriend? Or rather, ex-girlfriend?"

"What are you talking about?" Billy furrows his brows in puzzlement. "Tim and Lyla are fine. They're like an old married couple. Except Tim's actually still gettin' some."

"Really, Billy? Really, you want to go there?" Mindy glares at him. "Because, from where I'm sitting, I have twins hanging all over me and a two-year-old taking a nap. Doesn't really put me in the mood for love, hon."

"Oh my god, y'all," Tyra makes a face. "Can y'all not discuss your - your sex life in front of me? Gross. And Tim and Lyla are not fine. They broke up. Two days ago. I can't believe Tim didn't tell anyone. Where is he? Has anyone checked to make sure he's not drunk off his ass, lying in a ditch somewhere?"

"Wait a sec - are you saying that Tim and Lyla actually broke up?" Billy looks confused, then concerned as the realization dawns on him. "That can't - that can't be, I mean, Timmy's my little brother, he would have - told me, right?" he looks at Mindy.

Mindy shrugs. "I don't know," she shakes her head, as the news sinks in. "I don't know," she repeats. "Have you - well, have you talked to him?"

"Yeah, I mean - yes! Well, not since - I mean I called him today, and yesterday, come to think of it, and he hasn't - I was just thinking he and Lyla must be off somewhere because he's not returning my - shit. What the hell, Tyra, how do you know this?"

"Lyla," Tyra sighs in frustration. "Like I've said ten times already. Lyla told me."

Billy isn't listening anymore; he's reaching for the telephone and frantically dialing Tim's number. "Fuck," he curses angrily. "Voicemail. Again."

"Billy, watch it!" Mindy glares at him and nods toward Henry, still in Billy's arms.

"Tim Riggins - this is your brother, you jackass. Call me back. I'm worried about you. Where the hell are you? Tim, seriously, call me back." Billy hangs up the phone. "Shit. Shit. I've gotta find him," he says, more to himself than anyone else.


	4. Chapter 4

"Lyla, where is he?" Billy Riggins stands at the front door of Buddy Garrity's house.

"I don't know, Billy," Lyla looks confused. "What's going on?"

"He's not at his place; he's not picking up his phone; I just found out you guys broke up from Tyra, of all people. You can imagine that I'm kind of freaking out here."

"You don't know where he is?" Lyla narrows her eyes.

"That's what I just said," Billy replies in a frustrated tone.

"I - I don't know," Lyla's look changes from confusion to concern. "I - we haven't - we haven't spoken since -" she thinks back to two days ago; she hates thinking back to two days ago - "since I left the house. Come in," she steps aside and waits for Billy to step inside before closing the door behind him. She leans back against the door. "I don't - I don't know what to say."

"Maybe you can start by telling me what the hell is going on," Billy offers impatiently.

"Yeah," Lyla shakes her head, "Of course, yeah. I didn't - I don't - you don't know. He didn't - he didn't tell you?"

"No, Lyla, I haven't spoken to him in - since Wednesday. And I thought - I thought you guys must have gone somewhere. Like taken off for the weekend. But if he's not with you, then I don't know where the fuck he is."

Lyla nods silently. She's racking her brain for ideas. "Maybe - maybe we could - could he have gone back to San Antonio, maybe?" she looks up hopefully.

"I don't know," Billy sinks down onto a sofa in Buddy Garrity's living room. Lyla follows him.

"Can you tell me what happened?" he looks at Lyla as she sits down in a chair across from him.

Lyla looks down at her hands. "He - we - had a fight, a bad fight," she stammers. "The job - the job I was offered -"

"Yeah, the thing in Austin," Billy says impatiently.

"Yeah, it's - um - they asked if I could make a three-year commitment. I - it's a great opportunity - and I -" she stops and looks up at Billy. "It's a great opportunity," she says defensively. "I just thought - I don't know," she shakes her head. "I thought Tim and I - we could go there, I mean, when he graduates next summer. It'd just be two years for him, you know?"

Billy watches her silently.

"Anyway," she shakes her head, "Tim and I don't exactly see eye to eye - didn't see eye to eye - on this. He - I don't even know what happened. He said that I was - I was never coming back and that I didn't love him enough. Or something. And we - we broke up. I don't know," she bites her lip, trying to hold back the tears she knows are coming. "We - I left. I just left."

Billy nods. "Okay, well," he sighs. "Okay. Okay," he repeats.

"Okay, what, Billy?" Lyla looks at him.

"I don't know, Lyla; I don't know where my little brother is, and he's fucking out there somewhere, and he just broke up with the love of his life, so I'm guessing he's not in the best frame of mind right now."

"He wouldn't do anything stupid, Billy," Lyla says, more for her own benefit than Billy's. "He wouldn't. Right?"

"Right," Billy nods, nervously running his hand through his hair. "Right. Okay, well, I'm going to just keep calling him, I guess. Will you let me know if you hear from him, as soon as you hear from him, please?" he looks at her.

Their eyes lock for a moment. They both love him deeply. They've been here before together. "I will," Lyla says quietly.


	5. Chapter 5

"Tim Riggins, you fucking asshole, this is your brother again. Call me."

"Tim, please call me. I'm incredibly worried. I miss you. I love you. Please call me."

"Hey, does anyone even know you're here?" Jason Street calls over to Tim as he tosses him a beer. Jason and Tim are sitting outside in Jason's backyard, watching Jason's son, Noah, run around a sprinkler.

"No," Tim smiles as he watches Noah squeal with excitement.

"Okay," Jason says slowly. "You know, as much as I love the idea of you just showing up at my house, totally unannounced and unexpected - and what would you have done if Erin and I had been on vacation?"

Tim shrugs. "I dunno. Didn't think that far ahead."

Jason laughs. Typical Tim. "Well, as happy as I am to see you, I am slightly curious as to what you're doing here."

Tim is quiet. He pops open his beer bottle and takes a swig. "Six, can I ask you something?" he looks at Jason.

"Anything," Jason looks back at him. He means it. He and Tim have been through a lot together. Not all of it good - Lyla comes to mind - but they've come out better friends for it.

"Did you have a fucking clue what you were doing when you moved out here? I mean, you'd never even been to New York - New Jersey - whatever. You're a Texan."

"Texas forever, right?" Jason leans his head back against his chair and smiles, remembering the now seemingly far-away dreams that he once shared with Tim - friends, teammates, brothers. "I dunno, I guess so. . . . I mean, I was going to do whatever it took to be with my little boy - and Erin. Nothing else mattered. You know?" he looks at Tim and takes a swig of beer.

Tim nods. "Right."

"I dunno, Tim, I mean - I guess you never really know if you're making the right decision in the moment - you do what your gut tells you, and if it's a leap of faith, it's a leap of faith - right? Moving here certainly was," Jason laughs, watching Noah jump up and down and shake water off of his head, "but it was worth it. So worth it."

Tim is silent as he watches Noah scamper around the sprinkler. A slight smile plays upon his lips.

"You didn't come all the way out here to ask me about my move to New Jersey," Jason says as he takes a swig of beer. Jason still knows him better than almost anyone.

"No," Tim replies. He is quiet. Finally, he looks at Jason. "Honestly, I'm not sure why I came out here. Lost, I guess," he smiles.

Jason smiles, too, looking out beyond Noah, beyond his backyard, to the rows of homes and neatly manicured lawns and trees down the road. "You know what you don't get in Jersey? Wide open land. I miss that," he looks back at Tim.

Tim nods and smiles. "To wide open land," he raises his beer.

"To wide open land," Jason clinks his own beer against Tim's. They have made so many toasts together over the years - two golden boy football players, sitting around drinking beer and dreaming of their futures. Before Jason's accident. Before their lives took them in different directions. Before life became complicated, full of tough choices. Before this.

Tim and Jason sit side by side, comfortable in their mutual silence, drinking their beers and watching Noah run around. Finally, Jason looks at Tim. "So, you're leaving Dillon." It's not a question.

Tim laughs and shakes his head. Jason knows him too well. "How does Austin sound to you?"

Jason nods, considering it. "I think it'll be good for you, Timmy."

Tim is quiet for a moment. He follows Jason's gaze past the yard. "I'm scared," he says quietly.

"I know," Jason replies. The young men don't look at one another. "It's okay to be."


	6. Chapter 6

"Hey."

"Where the hell are you, Tim?" Lyla asks.

"I'm coming home tomorrow," Tim says.

"We've been going crazy over here - I've been - Billy is worried sick, we've been calling and -"

"I'm fine, Lyla. I'm sorry. I didn't - I haven't checked messages. Sorry. I'm okay. I'm coming home tomorrow. I'll call Billy and let him know I'm okay."

"Where are you?"

"In New Jersey."

Tim can hear the surprise in Lyla's voice. "With Jason?"

"Yeah," Tim replies. "He says hello."

Lyla pauses. "You're okay?"

"I'm okay."

"Okay, then," Lyla says. "I should - I should go. I just wanted to - wanted to make sure you're okay."

"I know. I'm okay."

"Okay, good - good then. I should go."

"Lyla."

"Yeah?" her voice is sad, hopeful, trying not to be hopeful, all at once.

Tim pauses. "I'll see you when I get home. We should - we need to - talk."

"Okay," she says quietly. She bites her lip to stop from adding the "I love you" that she's so used to adding. I love you.

She closes her cell phone and holds it against her forehead, closing her eyes. Don't you dare cry. Don't you dare. She takes a deep breath and dials Billy Riggins.

"He's okay," she says when Billy picks up the telephone. "He's okay."


	7. Chapter 7

Lyla sits at the bar, moving her Stoli on the rocks around on the bar, watching the water drip down the sides of the glass. Drip, drip. She doesn't look up as someone sits down next to her.

"Is this seat taken?"

It's a drawl. A Texas cowboy thing. Lyla doesn't look over. "Nope," she says.

"For such a pretty little lady, you sure look sad."

That voice. It's so damn annoying. Lyla looks over at him and forces a smile. "Better?" she asks. He's wearing a cowboy hat. Seriously?

"Can I buy you a . . .?"

"Stoli on the rocks. Yes, yes, you can," she responds. "Hal, another Stoli on the rocks, please," she motions toward the bartender. "This kind gentleman is buying."

"Sure about that, Lyla?" the bartender raises an eyebrow at her. She's been in here often enough over the last several days that he's beginning to feel somewhat protective of this lone Stoli fan.

"Absolutely," Lyla nods emphatically.

The bartender - Hal - shrugs, pouring her a refill. "And for you?" he looks at the cowboy.

"Whiskey, rocks," the cowboy nods. "What's your name, beautiful?" he looks at Lyla.

"Lyla," she smiles. If you pretend you're happy, eventually, you are happy, she thinks. Or something like that. That's the thing about stupid expressions; they're so stupid you can't even remember them properly.

"I'm Jack. Nice to meet you, Lyla," he drawls. "You live around here?"

She starts to nod, then stops. "No, I don't," she says. "I live in Austin. Am here on - visiting. Family."

"Well, I'd sure love to get to know you a bit before you head back to Austin," he smiles.

"Yeah, sure, what the hell," Lyla shrugs. "Why not?"


	8. Chapter 8

She makes him wear a condom, even though she's on the pill; she's only ever had unprotected sex with Tim. Of course, he doesn't have one on hand, so she's forced to improvise - go through her dad's bathroom cabinet, and seriously, eww, why does Dad have these things just lying around? Lyla shudders. Whatever. Thank god Dad's in Odessa so he can't see me rummaging around his cabinets for condoms.

He's inside of her now, and it's been so long since anyone except Tim - but I'm not going there, so even if this feels different, and not different-better, it's different-worse, definitely different-worse, because really, after Tim, everything's probably different-worse, but it doesn't matter because Tim and I are not together anymore and I'm not supposed to be fantasizing about one guy when I'm in bed with another. It's just not cool.

She recoils as he kisses her neck and her breasts. His mouth is wet, and his breath is hot, and this is really actually turning me off, but let's just pretend I'm enjoying this, otherwise he's going to think I'm insane. She listens to him moan and can't even fake enjoyment at this point. Just finish up already, please?

Huge mistake, huge mistake, huge mistake. I am not ready for this. Clearly didn't wait long enough between Tim and . . . this. But how long am I supposed to wait? What's that expression about just jumping right back on the horse? Ugh. Totally apt here, except the horse in question is really not doing it for me, and where is Tim when you really need him? Tim's strong hands, his arms, his chest, his stomach, his - okay, really, stop. Not helping.

She goes back in her head to the first time she and Tim made love - his hard body pressed against hers, the desperation of their kisses - partly out of mutual sadness and helplessness over Jason, partly out of an insanely chemical physical attraction. She remembers feeling powerless in his arms; she couldn't help herself - I mean, really, he's not the kind of guy girls turn down. He's the guy you dream about, fantasize about, want in your bed even though you know that nothing can come of it. So, of course, Lyla hadn't expected to fall in love with him, to need him so desperately that it consumed her. And here I am, having sex with a stranger.

What would Tim think of this? She feels a moment of panic. He's on his way back from New Jersey, and he is certainly not imagining me lying here in my dad's condo getting screwed by some yahoo from a local ranch, that's for sure. Definitely not. Tim - what would Tim do if he saw me now? Saw this? The wet kisses keep on coming. Tim's not really the jealous type, but then again, "not really jealous" and okay with someone else screwing me is not really just a matter of degree, is it?

Lyla feels the tears start welling up in her eyes. Seriously, will this ever end? And now I'm crying. Great. Only crazy girls cry during sex.

Finally, mercifully, it ends. She hears him groan in self-satisfaction. She grimaces and rolls away from him, tears rolling freely down her face now.

He reaches out to touch her and she freezes up, pulling away. "Please don't," she says quietly. She curls into a ball and pulls the sheet tightly over her, hoping if she closes her eyes he will just disappear. He doesn't.


	9. Chapter 9

It's 7:03 a.m. Lyla can't believe he's still here, sleeping, snoring soundly next to her. She can't believe she let him - whatever. She doesn't want to think about now, she can't think about this now. She feels as if a truck has run over her. Her throat is dry, her face feels tight, her head is pounding. I've got to quit the Stoli. She rolls out of bed slowly, quietly, and grabs her robe, tying it tightly around her as she heads for the bathroom. Once inside, she closes the door quietly, and fumbles around, looking for Advil, Tylenol, aspirin - anything that will ease this god-awful hangover.

She flips on the light and is taken aback at the reflection she sees in the mirror. Her face is red, splotchy, puffy. She looks like a girl who's spent too much time crying, drinking, too little time sleeping. She splashes some water on her face and finds the Advil. Thank god. She downs four of them simultaneously - who's ever died of an Advil overdose, anyway? - and drinks some water.

She puts a ponytail holder in her hair, runs a toothbrush through her mouth, and tiptoes out into the hallway, shutting the door to her bedroom. Hopefully Rancher Bob - or Bill or Jack - or whatever his name is - will wake up soon and get the hell out of here.

She racks her brain, trying to remember when her dad is supposed to be home. He's in Odessa trying to line up a third Garrity Motors location. Her dad - the Carmax of West Texas. She sighs - he probably won't be home until later this afternoon anyway, plenty of time to get Rancher Whatever-His-Name-Is out of the house. She and Tim had plenty of practice with this routine. Buddy Garrity isn't exactly the most observant dad to ever oversee a teenage daughter.

Lyla cracks a smile - painful - as she recalls the almost comical lack of awareness her dad possessed during the pendency of her relationship with Tim. She remembers how angry her father was when she, then a high school senior, had moved into the Riggins house after a particularly horrid fight over college money. As if she and Tim hadn't already been spending most of their nights in the same bed.

Lyla yawns and puts on a pot of coffee. She tries to block out the gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach, the unpleasant feeling of a stranger asleep in her bedroom while she sits out here, trying to figure out what the hell she's going to do with the rest of her life. Graduating from a great college, having an impressive job offer, being at the precipice of adulthood - it's not supposed to feel this shitty, is it?

She's startled by a quiet knock at the front door. Her father?, she furrows her brow trying to remember what he'd said to her before he left the house two days ago. Why the hell would he be knocking anyway? At 7-something in the morning? She approaches the door slowly, with trepidation. Do axe murderers knock on the door? Should I be looking for a baseball bat or something? One of dad's old football trophies, maybe? The knock becomes more insistent. Lyla panics as she reaches the door and sees who it is.

Fuck. Shit. Seriously? Has he ever been up at 7 a.m. - voluntarily? Outside of football season? Too late to go back to her bedroom now. She opens the door. He is standing there, looking down at her, smiling. Shyly. Sheepishly. Apologetically.

"Hi," he says softly. He looks tired but happy. At peace.

"Hi," she replies softly. She wants to throw her arms around him, to tell him she loves him insanely and is willing to give up the job in Austin, just to feel his arms around her again and have him tell her that he loves her, that he wants to spend the rest of his life with her. She doesn't. She's frozen.

"Can I come in?" he asks.

"Yeah, yes, of course," she stammers, stepping aside. "What are you - I mean, what are you doing here so early? I thought you'd still be in New Jersey."

"Took the red-eye," Tim replies, throwing himself down on the living room couch. "Came straight here. To see you," he looks up at her.

Lyla smiles; she can't help herself. She loves this man. Fuck Austin. "Thank you," she murmurs as she sits down next to him. She puts her head on his shoulder. She could stay this way forever.

Except she can't. Because there's a rancher - a cowboy - some random guy in the bedroom back there. "Tim - I, um," she lifts her head off of his shoulder and looks down at her hands. "I need to - there's - I just had sex with someone," she blurts out. Like a band-aid.

Tim is silent for a moment. She sees that he can't quite comprehend what she just said. Finally, he rises, shaking his head as if to ward off her words. "What did you just say?"

Lyla jumps to her feet. She doesn't want him to leave. She puts her hand on his arm. "I - it was so - I can't even - I'm sorry, it was so stupid. I just - I don't even know what to say. I didn't expect you. Now. I mean, this morning."

"Is he here?" Tim's eyes widen as the realization dawns on him of what his girlfriend - ex-girlfriend? - is telling him. Right now in this moment. "He's here right now?" Tim's voice rises. He gives her a careful once-over for the first time since he walked in - the robe, the messy hair, the bloodshot eyes. "Did you seriously just have sex with someone here? Here?" his voice is rough, angry. He runs a hand through his hair. He's not sure what to do next; he's not sure about anything, really.

"I didn't - I mean, I did - last night, he's - I don't know why he's still here, he wouldn't leave, and I -"

Tim's eyes are wide open now. "Are you blaming the -" he gestures to her bedroom. "The - whoever he is back there? Who is he?" his eyes bore into hers.

"I don't know," Lyla looks away from him, "I don't know - some guy - some guy I met last night at the bar - at Smitty's - at your bar."

Tim takes a deep breath. He can't think right now. His head is spinning.

"Tim, I'm sorry, I'm - I don't even - you broke up with me; I can't think straight right now, it was so stupid -"

"I broke up with you?" Tim is dumbstruck. "I don't even -" he's shaking his head. "I came here - I came here to tell you - to talk to you about. . . ." he trails off. He can't think right now. He can't be here.

"What, Tim? What?" Lyla is pleading with him. "I'm sorry. Please?"

Tim starts backing away her, heading toward the door. "I can't be here right now. I have to - I need to - I need to be away right now."

"Tim - don't go, please don't go," Lyla follows him to the door and reaches out to him. She doesn't care that she's begging. "Please. You wanted to talk. I want to talk, too. About Austin. I've been doing so much thinking about it, about this. I don't -"

"Don't," Tim is shaking his head, pulling away from her. "Please. Just. Not now. Please?" he looks back at her once, briefly, as he opens the door and steps out. She can see the deep hurt reflected in his beautiful green eyes. She's hurt him. Badly. She bites her lip. Please, she wants to say. Please. But she can't. He's asking her to back off. She has to.


	10. Chapter 10

Tim slams the door of his truck - his old reliable black Chevy - shut. He closes his eyes and puts his face against the cool black leather of the steering wheel. He can't think right now. He lifts his head and turns on the engine. He steps on the gas pedal - hard - and pulls away. He doesn't know where he's going, but he needs to get away from here.

Lyla slumps on the couch - the couch where Tim left her several hours ago - in Vanderbilt sweats and one of Tim's old San Antonio State football hoodies. Her father bustles around her, chattering about the new dealership in Odessa, while she mindlessly flips between old reruns of "The Golden Girls" and college football news on ESPN Sports Center.

"It's gonna be great, honey," Buddy Garrity smiles broadly as he pulls some steaks out of the refrigerator. "Gonna be amazing. Buddy Garrity Motors," he moves his hand across the air, showcasing the non-existent "Buddy Garrity Motors" sign he imagines lining some deserted boulevard in Odessa. "Three dealerships is a big deal, sweetheart, you know?" he pauses to look over at Lyla. "I'm going big-time, honey. The folks over at Chevy corporate are excited about this. Do you know that John Elway owns a dozen dealerships across Colorado now? They say he's synonymous with Chevy. John Elway - Chevy," Buddy closes his eyes and smiles. "Buddy Garrity - Chevy."

"Some people think John Elway's still pretty synonymous with football," Lyla mutters, dumping the remote control onto the coffee table and throwing her feet up on the couch. She arranges a pillow behind her and leans back against it.

"Well, I know that, honey. All's I'm saying here is, I'm a real player now. I'm on way, baby," he grins gleefully as he starts up the stove. "We're celebrating tonight. So just get on out of that funk of yours and congratulate your daddy."

"Congratulations, daddy," Lyla replies absently.

"Lyla, baby," Buddy sighs, coming over to her and sitting down next to her, "I know that you and Tim are . . . having problems, but -"

"I don't want to talk about that with you, dad, I really don't. Really."

Buddy pauses. "But you just graduated from Vanderbilt, and here you are, with your whole life ahead of you. And you're going to Austin to work for the governor. That's a big deal, sweetheart. You've gotta just . . . buck up, Lyla."

"Buck up?" Lyla raises an eyebrow at him. "I told you I didn't want to talk about this."

"I know, honey. Look, I like Tim, you know I like Tim -"

"Dad -"

"I mean, he's a heck of a football player, that kid. I'm not ashamed to admit that I feel darn proud of him, actually - when I see him on that television playing one of them nationally broadcast games - I'm darn proud of him." He pauses, glancing at Lyla's sweatshirt, emblazoned with Tim's #33. "I know you love him, baby. I know you do. But sometimes - sometimes things happen for a -"

"Don't say it, Dad, please don't say it. And please, please, can we not talk about this?"

"Fine," Buddy sighs, getting to his feet slowly. "Fine. We won't talk about it. But not talking about it isn't gonna make it go away, honey. I just want you to know I'm here for you."

"Thanks, Dad," Lyla says quietly. "So, tell me more about Odessa."


	11. Chapter 11

Tim is sprawled out on his couch - their couch - it was supposed to be their couch. He's on his fifth - no, sixth - beer, but who's counting anyway, and who really gives a shit - it's not like Lyla's here to tell him what to do. Not that she has much room to tell him anything right now.

He throws the cap of his beer bottle across the room, watching as it bounces off of the wall and hits the floor. Hardwood floors. What Lyla wanted. He can't decide whether he wants to drink himself into a coma or go out and start a fight with someone at a bar just to feel some relief - the relief of getting hit, getting hurt. To match the shit way he feels right now. He wishes he were on the field right now - in his pads, his helmet, getting pushed out onto the field to block - feeling the pain ripping through his arms, his shoulders - as he pushes someone to the ground - hard. It's funny how in real life, people hate bullies, but they're heroes on the football field.

Tim wants to be anywhere in his head but here, thinking about some guy with his hands all over Lyla. Some guy touching her, kissing her. Fucking her. He closes his eyes and pounds down the remainder of his beer. He immediately opens another one. That's the thing about having your own house - you get to put a six-pack or two on the table right next to you - the little side-table thing that Lyla has always liked - and drink in peace. No one bothers you.

They're talking about Texas football on television right now. San Antonio State could be a contender this year. Tim is used to being a contender. He's also used to feeling like shit. Though, in fairness, it's been a while. He wonders if this is how Jason felt when he found out that Tim and Lyla were screwing around behind his back. All those years ago. It's not quite the same, of course; Lyla and Tim are technically broken up, even thought it's been all of, what, a week? And then there's the fact that Lyla had a one-night stand with a random stranger and immediately confessed it to Tim. That's kind of different than what they did to Jason - his best friend, his now-paralyzed best friend, after his accident. But a broken heart is a broken heart, right? It doesn't matter whether it's because you just found out that your girlfriend of many years is screwing your best friend or that she just screwed some random asshole once. Right? Tim thinks that Jason must know what he's feeling right now. But Jason's probably not going to be all that sympathetic. Tim throws another cap across the room. Bounce, drop.

He hears a knock on the door and ignores it. He stares at the television - Oklahoma State has a scary good offense this year - and continues to drink. He wants to be on that field. He wouldn't have to think about Lyla and her one night fuck on the football field; it's the one place he can just not think.

He doesn't notice that someone has opened his front door and is talking to him. "Riggins. Earth to Riggins," Tyra Collette stands there with her hand on her hip. "Tim - what is wrong with you?"

Tim turns his head toward Tyra. "Hi," he mutters and looks back at the television.

"Good to see you, too, jerk," she says. She pushes the door shut and throws herself down on the couch next to him. "Just came to see how you are. Billy told me you were in New Jersey or something. What's that all about?"

Tim shrugs. "Beer?" he asks.

Tyra narrows her eyes. "Okay."

He pops a cap off of another bottle and hands it over.

"Thanks."

Tim nods. "Cheers," he looks at her.

"You okay?" Tyra asks.

"Great," Tim smiles brightly. "Just great."

"Yeah," Tyra rolls her eyes. She sighs. "So. . . ." She waits for him to speak. He doesn't. "So I heard you and Lyla broke up."

Tim doesn't look at her. "Yup," he mutters.

"She's moving to Austin, huh."

"Yup."

"And you . . . .?"

Tim takes a drink and looks at Tyra, narrowing his eyes. "What's this about, Tyra?"

"Nothing," Tyra makes a face at him. "Just tryin' to be friendly; thought we were friends."

"So what are you doin' home anyway?" Tim asks. "Figured you wouldn't ever be comin' back to Dillon."

"I know," Tyra laughs and runs a hand through her hair. "I figured the same. And yet, here I am."

"Here you are," Tim says dryly.

They sit and watch ESPN silently for a few minutes. Tyra finishes her beer. Tim hands her another one.

Finally, Tyra speaks up again. "So, aren't you going to ask me what I'm gonna be doin'?"

"What are you gonna be doin', Tyra?" Tim asks. He leans back against the couch, half laying down. He takes another swig of his beer.

Tyra sticks out her tongue at him and pokes his side. She grazes her eyes over his tanned, washboard stomach, now exposed where his shirt - emblazoned with the words "San Antonio State football" - has ridden up on him. "I'm interviewing for a job at the school, actually."

Tim cocks his head to the side and looks up at Tyra in surprise. "School? The high school? Dillon High?" he is incredulous.

"Yeah, Tim, what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," Tim grins. "I just can't believe that you're headed back to Dillon High. What are you gonna be doin' there?"

"Well, if I get the job, I'm gonna be a guidance counselor. Like Mrs. Taylor."

"Like Mrs. Taylor, huh?" Tim smiles. "That's great, Tyra, that's really great."

"Are you being serious, or are you making fun of me?"

"No," Tim smiles, "I'm being totally serious. That's great. I'm happy for you. I am."

"Yeah, well. . . ." Tyra smiles softly as her voice trails off. "So, you and me, back in Dillon, huh?"

Tim doesn't respond. He puts his arms behind his head and watches her curiously. Tyra glances at his biceps as they strain against his tee-shirt. She pulls her eyes away before Tim can see what she's staring at.

"I mean, it's like fate," Tyra laughs.

"Fate, huh?" Tim says.

"I mean, after you graduate," Tyra smiles. "Last season, huh, football hero?" she teases him.

"Last season," Tim grins. "It's kinda surreal right now, actually."

"Yeah, I bet," Tyra says. "What are you gonna do with your life, anyway?"

Tim leans his head back against the cushion, looking up at the ceiling. "The million-dollar question," he grins. He pauses. "Coaching, probably," he finally responds. "I mean, I've been helping Coach Taylor out for the last few years, and this summer I'm supposed to be helping Coach Spivey out. At least for a month or so, before I have to report for preseason. Playbooks, offensive coordination, recruiting, stuff like that. I think I'm actually pretty decent at this shit. Crazy, huh? I mean, it's a pretty far cry from Riggins' Rigs, anyway. . . ."

"No, it's not crazy," Tyra says softly. "Not at all. I think you'd be pretty good at it, too. Pretty great, actually."

"Thanks, Tyra," Tim smiles at her. "Ty Ty," he teases.

Tyra giggles. "Don't you dare."

"Oh, okay, so only Minds can call you that? I mean, we're family now, right?" he grins. "Aunt Ty Ty?"

Tyra grabs a cushion off the couch and hits Tim with it. "Don't. You. Dare," she grins at him.

TIm grabs her and pulls her down on top of him. "Ty Ty, come on, don't take life so seriously," he grins.

Tyra is trapped in his strong - ridiculously strong - arms. She can't move. And she doesn't really want to. She can feel his hard body beneath her - he is so fucking well-built. This is really an unfair advantage. "Tim, stop," she finally says.

"Stop what?" he asks. His face is inches from hers.

"This," she says quietly, uncertainly. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know," he says, "Does it matter?"

"Yes, yes, it does," Tyra pushes herself off of him. "It does because you're - you're using me - to make yourself feel better. Or worse. I don't know. I'm not gonna let you do that to me again."

Tim sighs. "Tyra, why does everything have to be so complicated? Why can't we just -"

"Because, Tim. Because I know you," Tyra tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Because I've been in love with you since I was five years old, and you spent half your life treating me like crap."

"Come on, Tyra, that's not true," Tim says. He's really regretting this now. He's definitely not in the mood for another deep conversation. Not with Lyla's - transgression - on his mind.

"Yeah, it is, Tim, it is," Tyra says. "You look at me as an easy lay - you always have. You take advantage of my feelings for you. Even though you don't - even though you don't -" she breaks off. Even though you don't feel that way about me. She can't say it.

She shakes her head. "You never change, do you? What am I, some substitute for Lyla when you can't have the real thing? I am not anyone's leftovers, Tim."

"Tyra, that's not how I think of you," Tim says. Not particularly convincingly. He's a terrible liar.

"God, Tim. What am I even doing here?" Tyra is angry now. Her words start spilling out quickly. Too quickly. Like she's been practicing this speech for years. "Fuck you. Fuck you for all the years you fucked me and then left me alone like I didn't matter. Fuck you for fucking Lyla and fuck you even more for falling in love with her. Fuck you for showing me, time and time again, that it's not that you didn't want a girlfriend, it's just that you didn't want me as your girlfriend." She stand up and wipes away the tears that are rolling down her cheeks.

Tim is surprised at the level of anger that she still - still? - harbors over things that happened eight million years ago. "I'm sorry, Tyra," he stammers. "I didn't - I didn't realize -"

"Didn't realize what, Tim?" Tyra wipes her face and smiles. "That I might actually have feelings? That I might actually want more than a roll in the hay? Of course you didn't."

"I'm sorry," Tim says simply. "I don't know what else to say."

"Whatever," Tyra brushes herself off. "I just wanted to come hang out with you today, see how you're doing. And you had to go all Tim Riggins on me."

Tim laughs. "I didn't realize I was going all Tim Riggins on you. I'm sorry. Really, I just thought - I thought we both wanted to -"

"No," Tyra responds quickly. "We didn't. Didn't you just break up with Lyla, like, five minutes ago? You really want to screw someone else so quickly?"

Tim's jaw tenses. He doesn't respond.

"Hit a nerve there, Tim?" Tyra snaps.

"You're right, Tyra," Tim stands up. "This wasn't a good idea. I'm not - I haven't - I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the way I treated you all those years ago. I truly am."

Tyra's expression softens. "I know," she says.

"And I'm sorry for - trying to - I don't know," he pauses, "take advantage of you - or whatever - here. I don't know what I was thinking. Not much, obviously. I just - I'm not - I have a lot of my mind. And, I guess . . . having sex with someone you don't love is easy because you don't have to care about -" he stops, wishing he could take back what he just said. He looks down at the floor.

"Yeah," Tyra says quietly. "You don't have to care."

"That's not what I - that's not what I meant," Tim stammers. "I just -"

"You're just in love with someone, and it's not me. It's never been me. I get it, Tim," she grabs her bag and heads to the door, "and I'm just going to go now before you accidentally tell me something else completely crappy."

"I'm sorry, Tyra," Tim sighs and sinks back down on the couch. Seriously - why are women so damn hard to deal with?


	12. Chapter 12

Eric Taylor smiles broadly as Tim walks into his office. "Good to see you, son," he rises and grabs Tim's hand in a strong shake.

"Hi, Coach," Tim smiles at him.

Eric gestures for Tim to take a seat, and sits back down in his own chair.

"Nice place," Tim looks around.

Eric shrugs. "Can't complain," he smiles, crossing a leg over his knee and pushing himself back from the desk. He puts his arms behind his head. "So how are you, son?"

"I'm good," Tim smiles, nods. "Things are good."

"College? Football season just around the corner, right? Last one?"

"Yeah," Tim replies. "Sometimes it's hard to believe that it all ends here."

"Well, you've had a longer career than most," Eric smiles. "I'm proud of you, Tim. I really am."

"Thank you, sir," Tim says quietly. "How is college treating you, sir?"

Eric laughs. "Here we both are, right? It's good. Different focus than high school, that's for sure."

"Tell me about it," Tim grins.

"Yeah," Eric smiles. "The whole year-round recruiting, wheeling-and-dealing thing. That was more Buddy Garrity's bailiwick," he grins at Tim. "Here it's part of my actual job. That's been . . . interesting to get used to. So," he looks at Tim. "You've been working with Coach Spivey this summer?"

"Not yet, Coach - am supposed to start with him in a couple of weeks."

"Good. Good," Eric pauses. "So what can I do for you, Tim?"

Tim takes a breath and pauses. "I, um - I need to - I need to maybe find something in Austin. For next year."

"Austin?" Eric raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, sir. I'm coming here - moving here, I mean. Next summer."

"Really?" Eric grins. "Tim Riggins - leaving Dillon? I don't think I'd ever imagined that day would come."

Tim laughs. "I'm having some trouble imagining it, too, sir."

"And you want to do some coaching here?" Eric's tone grows more serious.

"Yes, sir, I do. I mean, I know I don't know anyone here, and I was thinking that, maybe, with a reference from Coach Brown at San Antonio, and maybe with you and Coach Spivey, I might be able to - I dunno - get introduced to a local high school here or something. . . ." he trails off. "I mean, I've put in a few summers at Dillon, and I know my stuff, and I think I can - I think I can be good at this."

Eric smiles. "I think you can, too, son. I think you could be great at it."

"Thank you, sir."

Eric pauses. "Have you thought about college?"

"College, sir?" Tim asks. He looks up.

"College coaching, son," Eric gestures around him. "Some place like, I don't know - TMU, maybe?" he asks pointedly.

Tim shakes his head. "No, sir, I hadn't thought about - not really, sir."

"Well, you've been playing - what, now, coming up on four seasons as a starter on a top-flight Division I football team; you know the offense, you know the routes. Why not?"

"I guess I just never really thought about the possibility, Coach."

"Well, would you?" Eric asks impatiently.

"Yes - yes, sir, of course," Tim says. "Yes."

Eric nods and cocks his head to the side, narrowing his eyes, as he rocks back and forth. He is silent for a minute. "Okay," he is still nodding. "Okay. So here's what I'm gonna propose to you, Tim; and it's a one-time deal - take it or leave it - you come here this summer - I'll talk to Coach Spivey and work something out with him - you come here and work with me for a month instead of with Coach Spivey. And you learn the ropes. College football, son. You could have a future here." He looks at Tim seriously. "You report back for preseason when - August 1?"

"August 1, yes, sir," Tim says.

"Okay," Eric says. "So you give me one solid month - you report to me on June 25 - one solid month. And you work your ass off here. And I mean, really work your ass off. No drinking with the guys, no bull shit," he narrows his eyes at Tim. "And I mean that. You give me one month to turn you into a college coach - you help me with playbooks, routes, personnel. You give me that time, and then, if at the end of that, you're still standing - if I think you have what it takes - I offer you a job here at TMU after you graduate. With me. As an assistant offensive coordinator. Take you under my wing. Teach you. Teach you what it takes to sit here," he taps his chair. He pauses. "Well? What do you think?"

"Are you serious?" Tim asks incredulously.

"I've never been more serious in my life, Riggins," Eric replies.

"You'd - you'd do that for me - give me a job?"

"No, son, I'm not giving you a job; I'm giving a chance. A chance to prove that you're worthy of a job here. TMU is no joke, son; I can't just go handing jobs out to my former players, even if they're some of my favorite former players," he winks at Tim. "But I can give a job to one of my guys who's proven himself to me. Who's worked his ass off on - and off - the football field. Who's led his team, his teammates to championships. Who knows what it takes to be a winner. I can do that," Eric nods.

Tim's eyes are wide open. He doesn't know how to respond.

"Well? Are you in or out, Riggins? I haven't got all day, son. I've got a coaches meeting to get to, playbooks to review," he says.

"Yes," Tim says quickly, "yes. Yes, I'm in, sir, yes, thank you. Thank you for this opportunity. I promise I won't let you down, Coach. Thank you," Tim is grinning from ear to ear. He rises from his chair. "I can't tell you how much this means to me."

"I know what it means to you. And you're welcome. And be sure that you don't let me down, son," Eric grins and grabs Tim's hand to shake it.

"I won't, sir, I promise you that I won't," Tim smiles at him.

"Okay, well, I'll talk with Coach Spivey and give you a call. But, for now, you plan on reporting to me at 8 a.m. on June 25 - here. Got it?"

"Got it, sir," Tim nods.

"Alright, now get out of here, son," Eric grins and nods at the door. "We're going to be spending too much time together as it is."

Tim laughs. "Understood, sir. Thank you," his smile turns serious. "I mean it."

"I know," Eric nods and touches his back. "I know. See you, Tim."

"Bye, Coach," Tim heads toward the door.

"Tim," Eric calls after him.

Tim stops and turns around. "Yeah?"

"Lyla. She's a lucky woman. Don't let her forget it," he winks.

Tim smiles slightly, nods, and heads out the door.


	13. Chapter 13

Lyla is running hard, fast, feet pounding the cement. She is exhausted, but she doesn't stop. She tells herself that she doesn't know where she's running, but she does. It's the place she used to run to when she was lost, when she didn't know what to do with herself, when she needed support - only now he doesn't live there anymore. Where the hell is he, anyway?

She winces as she feels a cramp starting on her left side; she puts a hand on her side and keeps running. She's left him three messages, four messages, maybe? She's lost count now. She's been to his - their - house; there's no sign of him or his car. Did he go back to New Jersey?

She hasn't heard from him since he walked out of her dad's house yesterday morning. She's been periodically checking her cell phone to make sure it still works. Pathetic. Lyla is sure that if she can just talk to Tim, make him understand, that things will be okay. She just needs to tell him that she fucked up, that she loves him, that she's going to give up the Austin job, find something closer to home. She knows that things will be okay. They have to be.

When she makes it to the Riggins house, she's hot, sweaty, out of breath. She bends over and rests her hands against her thighs, trying to catch her breath. She wipes her face and bounces up the steps to the front door.

Mindy opens it. "Hi, Lyla," she looks surprised. Tyra is sitting behind her on the living room couch. They're clearly in the middle of some deep talk.

"Hi," Lyla forces a smile. "I'm looking for Tim. Have you seen him?"

"No," Mindy says. "He hasn't been here. . . ."

"Is Billy around? Maybe he knows something?" Lyla bites her lip anxiously. "Please? I've been trying to reach him, and . . . ." she trails off.

"Come on in," Mindy sighs. She steps aside.

"Thanks," Lyla steps inside. "Hi, Tyra," she smiles tightly.

"Hi," Tyra doesn't bother smiling.

"Billy's not here," Mindy says. "But Tim did call earlier - this morning - something about being gone for a day or so, something like that. So he's okay. Wherever he is."

Lyla nods and looks down. "Thanks. Tyra," she looks up, "Listen, about the other day - I'm, I'm sorry about that."

"No, you're not. Not really," Tyra says breezily, her eyebrows raised. She doesn't move from her spot on the couch. "But you know, it's funny, you being so high and mighty at the bar. Because your precious Tim tried to have sex with me yesterday. I turned him down. So maybe you should be. Sorry, that is," she smiles.

Mindy looks down at the floor; it's clear that she doesn't want to be in the middle of this scene.

Lyla shifts her weight from one foot to another. "I see," she says slowly. "Did my precious Tim suggest why he might suddenly be so interested in having sex with you?" she mimics Tyra coldly.

Tyra narrows her eyes. "I gather it's because he might actually be waking up from the coma of boring you've had him in for the last however-many years."

"Could be," Lyla smiles tightly. "Or it could be that he'd just found out that I'd slept with someone else," she enjoys seeing the expression on Tyra's face change, as it's clear this is not information she had been in possession of, "and he just wanted to hurt me. And himself. And sleeping with you?" she smirks. "Would just be the method of the moment." She shakes her head and heads to the door. As she opens it, she stops and turns around.

"Why do you hate me so much, Tyra?" Lyla asks. "I thought we - I thought we got past that. I thought we were. . . ." she trails off.

"Friends?" Tyra asks. She sighs. "I don't hate you," she adds. "I do hate that you think you're better than everyone else."

"Do I?" Lyla shakes her head in disbelief. "I don't," she says. "I do not think that."

"Yeah, Lyla, you do. Maybe you don't see it. But you always have. Tim - since he's been with you - I don't even; he's not even the same person anymore."

"Maybe you just never really knew him," Lyla says softly.

Tyra doesn't respond.

Lyla shakes her head and turns back to the door. "Sorry I interrupted y'all," she walks out of the house without looking back.

Mindy doesn't speak as she closes the door behind Lyla. She looks back at Tyra, her lips tight. "That . . . wasn't necessary, was it?"

Tyra's eyes widen. "You're - you're accusing me of being inappropriate? She just suggested that Tim would've screwed a lamppost yesterday, that I just happened to be what was on hand."

Mindy is silent.

Tyra sighs. "I just wanted to, okay. I just wanted to see the expression on her face when I told her that . . ."

"I know, I know, that her precious Tim isn't so precious after all," Mindy sighs. "So, what did it get you?"

Tyra shrugs.

"It got you knowing that Tim would've screwed a lamppost yesterday because his precious little Lyla hurt him," Mindy shakes her head. "Look, Ty Ty, you know I love you more than anything, baby sis, but this - this thing with Tim - he's not ever gonna be yours. Ever. He's Lyla's. Whoever he screws, whoever she screws - you're not gonna get in between that."

Tyra looks away. "I'm not tryin' to," she says.

"Right," Mindy sighs. "Hey, help me with dinner, will you? The twins will be up soon."

Tyra nods and gets up, brushing off her pants. "Fine," she says. She pauses. "I'm okay, Mind. I am," she smiles.

Mindy smiles back. "I know you are. I love you, Ty," she gives her a hug. "Now get over here and help me."


	14. Chapter 14

Lyla breezes past her father as she walks in the door later that night. She's been to three coffee shops, the local library and Barnes & Noble, trying to hammer out an alternative job plan in and around Dillon, while simultaneously, trying not to check her cell phone every 30 seconds waiting for a message from Tim.

"Hi to you, too, honey," Buddy Garrity calls as she heads into her room.

"Hi Dad," she pokes her head outside. "I'm - uh - just going to get something to eat later, okay? I'm really tired; just going lie down for a while, watch some TV."

"You could watch out here with me," Buddy offers hopefully. "I have to leave for a booster meeting in about half-an-hour, but we could - I don't know - spend some time together now. You're leaving so soon, hon, I'd love it if we could just, you know, spend some quality time together. I've barely seen you since you've been home."

"Um, maybe later, Dad," Lyla says. "Tell me if Tim calls, please," she closes her door.

"Sure, honey," Buddy says to a closed door. "But he's probably not going to," he mutters to himself, before turning his attention back to ESPN.

When the door knocks, he sighs. He doesn't want to engage in any discussion about that new sophomore running back - the one they're trying to recruit from Midland - until the meeting. But he just knows that Rich Pattinson is going to try to bend his ear about it beforehand, just like Rich has been pestering him for the last three weeks.

He puts down his beer and goes to the door. "Look, I am just not prepared to empty the cupboards of the booster funds for this kid," he opens the door in mid-sentence.

"No problem there, because I'm not planning on asking you to," Tim Riggins smiles at Buddy.

"Tim Riggins," Buddy is surprised. He pauses. "Come on in." He lowers his voice to a furious whisper as Tim steps inside. "You know, my daughter has been waiting for you to call for the last, I don't even know, so whatever is going on here -" he waves wildly around him, "fix it."

"Um, yes sir," Tim stammers as his smile disappears. "Is she, um, is she here?" he asks expectantly.

"Yes, Tim Riggins, she's here," Buddy is exasperated. "In there. Barely even talking to me, I should add, in there moping over you and your - who the hell knows. Just - just go," he splutters, waving back to Lyla's room.

Tim nods and goes back to Lyla's bedroom. He knocks on the door.

"Seriously, Dad, I do not want to spend any 'quality time' together this evening," she calls through the door.

Tim knocks again. He hears Lyla stomp over to the door and pull it open. "Dad, I mean it, I am not -" she stops in mid-sentence as she sees Tim.

"What is with you Garritys and not actually checking to see who's at the door?" Tim grins. He's amused.

"Tim!" Lyla sucks in her breath. "Tim, I've been - I've been calling you and -" she breaks off, shaking her head.

"I know," Tim says, "I'm sorry. Can I . . .?" he motions inside.

Lyla looks beyond Tim to her father, who's watching her and nodding expectantly. "Sure," Lyla says. "Yes, of course." She watches as Tim seats himself on her desk chair and closes the door behind him.

"Hi," she smiles - shyly - as she leans back against the door. "I didn't - I didn't know where you were. Again. . . . That seems to be happening a lot lately. I mean, not that you owe me anything, I know we broke up, but - I miss you. I can't do this without you, Tim."

Tim watches her curiously, wondering where she is going. She definitely seems to be going somewhere with this.

Lyla sighs and looks at the floor. "I've been thinking; I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, you know? I've had a lot of time to think. . . . And I've made a few decisions. The first one - well, actually it's the only one - I haven't figured out anything else yet - but I'm not - I'm going to turn down the Austin job. I've - I've been to the library and bookstores and I know I'll be able to find something - something in local government or something - that's - I don't know, but I'm going to - I'm looking, I mean, and I'm going to figure out something," her voice trails off. She lifts her eyes up to see if Tim's watching her, to see what he's thinking, doing.

Tim's eyes are wide. He's clearly shocked.

"Anyway, I - I am so sorry, Tim; I am sorry that I took it for granted that you would - I'm sorry that I took you for granted; I didn't mean to, I love you - so much - and I can't imagine my life without you in it. And I know that you - you built us in this incredible house, and of course you expect us to live there, and you - you went to college for me, with the expectation that we'd come back here and make a life together, of course, and it was shitty of me to expect you to give up that life, that - everything you've - I don't even know what I'm - I just - I just need you to say that you forgive me for - for sleeping with that guy. And asking you to - just asking you to -"

"Lyla, stop," Tim is in front of her now, inches away from her. His hands are on her shoulders. "Stop," he says softly as he looks down at her.

"Right, right," Lyla is nodding; she's still looking down; of course, tears are falling down her cheeks. As usual. Why can't she stop crying these days? Lyla can't look up at him. "I know that you're upset, you have every right to be, I just -" Lyla's blabbering now, just to fill the silence.

"Lyla," Tim's voice is firmer. "Stop. Please," he lifts up her chin. "Stop," he wipes away her tears. "I forgive you, I do. I do," he repeats, nodding. "Okay? I do."

She's looking at him now, nodding, sniffling. She tucks a tendril of hair behind her ear. "Do you - do you think you could . . . ." her voice trails off. She can't speak.

Tim is still looking down at Lyla; his eyes reflect his deep love for her. "Lyla, you're not giving up the Austin job."

"Tim, don't," Lyla shakes her head. "Don't, because I've already - I've already thought it out, and you're not, you're not going to convince me to leave you behind because you're 'not that guy'; you're not going to convince me this time because it's different and I can't and this is - this is what life is supposed to be about, right? It's supposed to be about making tough choices - together - with the person you love."

"Right," Tim nods. "I know. And I'm not asking you to leave me behind. I'm telling you -" he takes her face in his hands - "that I'm going with you. That's what I came here to tell you."

"What?" Lyla is stunned. She can't comprehend what Tim has just told her.

"I'm coming with you," Tim repeats. He plants Lyla down on the bed, and sits next to her. "You, me, Austin - together," he says slowly. "How much simpler can I make this?" he smiles at her.

"I don't -" Lyla is shaking her head. "I don't understand. You're not - you told me you weren't coming, that you couldn't . . . come. You - I don't - what?"

"That is true," Tim nods slowly. "I did tell you all that. And then I sat on my ass feeling sorry for myself for a while, and decided that I'm an idiot, 'cause my home is with you, in Dillon, in Austin, in Washington - well, not in Washington, so please don't ever do that to me," he grins, "but I can do Texas. I can do Austin. I'm with you on this, Lyla. I am. . . . It's a great opportunity, everything you've already told me. It's three years - two for me," he laughs. "Or more," his tone grows serious. "Whatever it is, we'll figure it out. Together. . . . Although," he cocks his head and smiles teasingly, "I do love that you were willing to give it up for me. I love that you're a big enough idiot to do that. For me," he brushes the hair out of her eyes.

Lyla is laughing and crying at the same time. She hits him playfully before collapsing into his arms. "I can't even -" her voice is muffled as her face is pressed against his chest. She stops mid-sentence, and just lets him hold her. She feels his heart beating against her cheek. Lyla lets the quietness envelop her - them. She can't voice the joy - the pure joy - she is feeling right now. She can't find the words to express to him how grateful she is to him. Right now. In this moment right now. I love you so fucking much, Tim Riggins.

Finally, she pulls away, and wipes her eyes and her nose. Tim reaches across her bed to the nightstand and hands her a tissue. She blows her nose loudly. Tim smiles at her affectionately.

"Thank you, Tim," Lyla says quietly.

"No problem, I mean, it's your tissue," he smiles.

"You know what I mean," she says.

"I know what you mean," Tim nods and takes her hand. "So, I actually haven't even shared my good news yet."

"That wasn't the good news?" Lyla looks up at him. "Because, really, that was pretty incredible news."

"True," Tim nods and grins, "but I have even better news. Coach Taylor offered me a job at TMU. Well, it's not quite a job - not yet, anyway, but he offered me an internship - or something like - anyway."

Lyla's eyes are wide. She is silent, waiting for Tim to continue.

"I went out there - to Austin, I mean - yesterday. That's where I was," Tim says.

"You were - you left my house and went to . . .?"

"Not - not, I mean, I did, but not right away. The next morning. I went the next morning."

"You went to talk to Coach Taylor about a job?"

"I - I did, I thought he could, I dunno, help me find an assistant coaching gig somewhere, at some local high school. I have the Dillon experience, you know?"

Lyla nods, waiting for him to continue.

"But he asked me - he asked me if I'd ever thought about college, and I hadn't - I mean, it's crazy, you know? Because I've been playing for so long but I hadn't ever thought about coaching college. Didn't think, well I don't know what I thought, but Coach Taylor, he thinks I can do it, he has . . . faith in me, I guess," Tim looks down at his hands. "Anyway, so, we - I mean he offered me this four-week tryout, I guess," he pauses, "and I - if it goes well, then he says he'll give me a full-time job there after graduation."

Lyla's eyes are shining. She can't believe what she's hearing. "Seriously?" she shakes her head. "A coaching job at TMU? Wow. I just - I'm so - I'm so proud of you, Tim," she throws her arms around him and holds him tightly.

"Thank you," he replies quietly. "So, this is it, you know? You and me - Austin. A new life, I guess," he smiles uncertainly. He looks down again.

Lyla is silent for a moment, watching him. "I know this is scary, Tim," she speaks softly. "I know that."

Tim looks at her with a slight smile. He nods.

"I love you so much for doing this. I mean, I love you regardless of what you do - but this. . . . This is incredible. I just - you are an incredible man, Tim," Lyla takes his hand and squeezes it.

"Thanks," Tim smiles. "It's not that big of a deal."

"Yeah, it is," Lyla replies. "It is." She pauses. "Tim," she turns his face back toward her, "you're going be great. You're going be amazing," she says softly. "And we're going to be happy. . . . We're going to be so happy."

Tim's smile broadens. "I know," he nods. "I know." He puts his arms around her and pulls her close, kissing her forehead and closing his eyes.

Lyla finally pulls away. "So when are we going?" she asks. "When are you supposed to be there?"

"Well, that may be an issue," Tim says. "In three weeks."

Lyla's eyes register her surprise. "Wow. Okay, well we need to - we should get moving then, shouldn't we." She throws herself across her bed and opens the drawer to her nightstand. She rummages around, emerging victoriously with a small scrap of crumpled up paper. "Realtor!" she announces triumphantly. "My realtor from last summer - she's the one who got me that place near the Capitol, remember? You liked that neighborhood?"

"Right, yeah," Tim nods.

"She was great, so easy to work with," Lyla chatters away. "Particularly since I didn't have a clue what I was doing. I was planning on calling her again, seeing if she could do something for me this fall - she'll be able to help us, I'm sure. We just have to pull together a list of criteria-" Tim is looking at her blankly - "things that we want in a place," she is speaking quickly, excitedly. "You know, bedrooms, bathrooms, stuff like that - oh, and location! We need to have a place that's close to TMU and the Capitol, you know?"

"Right," Tim gives her an amused grin. "Absolutely."

"Seriously, Tim, this is important stuff," Lyla laughs and falls back on her bed. "Grown-up stuff."

"Right," Tim nods. "Grown-up stuff," he lays back on her bed next to her.

"I need to call her," Lyla turns her face toward his. "We should call her - maybe she can meet us there next week? If we get our priorities together and figure out what we want, we can look at a few apartments - probably get everything signed and leased in, like, two days," Lyla looks at Tim hopefully, then up at the ceiling. She pauses. "I can't believe this is really happening," she sighs with relief. "I just - three days ago I was sitting at Smitty's feeling sorry for myself - been spending a lot of time there, fyi, just in case Hal tells you any stories," she looks back at Tim, who is grinning and shaking his head. "Anyway, I was just feeling so sorry for myself, I was so depressed, and here we are - we're right here, planning our lives together - in Austin! I just - I'm so happy right now, Tim, I can't even tell you."

"I know," Tim smiles at her affectionately. "Just don't sleep with any more guys."

Lyla laughs and pokes him. "Promise. Besides, you're the only one I want."

"That's the right answer," Tim throws an arm around her and pulls her close. They lay in silence for a minute, just holding each other.

Their peaceful silence is interrupted by Buddy's booming voice. "I'm heading out, Lyla," he calls through the door. "See you later, sweetheart."

"Dad, wait -" Lyla jumps up from the bed and throws open the door; Tim quickly sits up. Lyla looks back at Tim. "Can I?" she asks expectantly. Tim looks amused; he nods.

Buddy simply looks confused as he looks back and forth between them. Lyla certainly seems much happier than when he last saw her not half-an-hour ago. "Hon, I'm running late, so whatever it is -"

"Tim is coming to Austin, Daddy!" Lyla blurts out. "He's coming with me."

Buddy looks surprised. A smile slowly spreads across his face. "Well, that's great news, honey. Tim," he looks over at Tim and nods. "You're really going?" he asks.

"Yes, sir, I am," Tim responds.

Buddy pauses, trying to digest this information. "So, what are you planning on doing in Austin, son?" Buddy asks. "Do you have any ideas?"

"Dad!" Lyla is surprised. "How about an 'I'm so happy for you' or -"

"Working for Coach Taylor, actually, sir," Tim interrupts Lyla smoothly, standing up.

Buddy's jaw drops. "What?"

"Coach Taylor's offered me a job, Mr. Garrity. As an assistant offensive coordinator, sir. I'm planning on working out with the coaches this summer."

Buddy is stunned into silence.

"So, Lyla and I - we're going to have to leave earlier than planned, Mr. Garrity. That's what we're talking about now," Tim smiles. Firmly.

"You're going to be working with Coach Taylor. . . ."

"Yes, sir, I am."

"Coaching football, huh," Buddy says. He appears to be deep in thought.

"Yes, Mr. Garrity."

"College football, huh," Buddy isn't really conversing with Tim, as much as thinking aloud.

Tim doesn't respond. He and Lyla look at each other; Lyla shrugs.

"Well, that's - that's great news, son," Buddy finally breaks into a smile and reaches out to shake Tim's hand, clapping him on the back simultaneously. "I just can't believe - can't believe that Eric didn't say anything. We're very close, you know," he looks at Tim.

"Oh, I know, sir," Tim says quickly, "It just happened yesterday, so . . . you know, probably not enough time to share the news," he smiles politely.

"Right, right, that must be it," Buddy agrees. "Well, this is . . . this is great news," he looks back and forth between Tim and Lyla. "I must admit - I'm - I'm somewhat stunned here," he says. "I just - well, we have to celebrate. We have to celebrate. I'm - I'm running out now to deal with Panthers business," he gives Tim a knowing look, "but this weekend - you keep your calendars clear; we're going to have a good ole fashion Texas celebration at the club," Buddy nods and he heads to the front door.

"We'll invite everyone," Buddy calls behind him. Lyla and Tim follow him out of Lyla's room.

"Tim, you make sure the whole Riggins clan is there," Buddy waves his arm as he opens the front door. "And Angela. Angela Collette," he looks back and smiles. "I would most certainly like to celebrate with Angela."

Lyla wrinkles her nose, but remains silent.

"Will do, sir," Tim nods, glancing at Lyla. He still owes her a conversation about that. Tyra Collette.

"See you, kids," Buddy heads out the door. "Lock up for me, Lyla. And this weekend - Saturday night - let's say seven o'clock," he calls as he closes the door behind him.

Lyla locks the front door and turns around, leaning against it. "Looks like it's just us," she smiles up at Tim.

"Looks like it," he grins at her and heads toward her. He puts his arms around her, pulling her close. He leans down to kiss her. Lyla tastes him - the warmth, the wetness, the familiarity. She doesn't want him to stop.

"Mmm," she smiles, reaching up for him again. "I've missed that."

"I can do better," he smiles down at her warmly.

Lyla smiles, and gently pushes him back. "There is so much stuff we have to take care of, get in order," she says, as if she's suddenly realizing how much pressure is on them to get everything in place. "Like the realtor, and - god, there's just so much stuff to do. Three weeks!," she heads back to her bedroom.

Tim follows her back to her bedroom. He shuts the door behind them. "Hey," he says softly, pulling her over to him. "I know. We'll get it done. But tonight?" he pauses, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her nose. "Can't we just celebrate? By ourselves? No country club, no Riggins clan, no Buddy Garrity. Just us?" he whispers in her ear.

She can feel his breath against her skin; it sends shivers down her spine. "Twenty minutes, tops, I promise," Tim smiles slyly as he presses her tightly against him. "Ten, even. I can do it in ten."

Lyla laughs softly. "Oh really?" she raises an eyebrow, feeling the hardness of his body against her. "Ten?"

"Ten, promise," Tim kisses her neck.

"Okay, ten, and then . . ." Tim is already pushing her down on the bed, kissing her neck.

"Did you find it gross that my dad wanted to include Angela Collette in the big celebration, by the way?" Lyla murmurs as Tim pulls off her shirt.

Tim stops. The thing with Tyra. Damn it. "I don't know," he sighs, sitting up, "But I do find it kind of gross that you were just thinking about your dad and Angela Collette."

"Sorry, I'm - whatever, it's not my business," she looks sheepish, "and you're right - why would I possibly be thinking about that when I have a hot, hot - did I mention super hot - football player in my bed?" she pulls him down on top of her and tugs at his shirt.

"Wait," Tim says. He pushes himself off of her. Lyla sits up, too.

"What's wrong?" she looks confused. Tim grips the comforter in his fist, holding it tightly as he looks away from Lyla.

"I need to . . . tell you something. It's - when I left here the other day . . ." his voice trails off. "After I - after that."

"Yeah," Lyla nods.

"When I left, I didn't really know what to do, you know? I was angry, I was - I . . . I don't know," he shakes his head. "I just didn't want to think about it. Think about anything. I started drinking. Of course. I drank a lot," he looks at her.

Lyla doesn't respond. She waits for him to continue.

"And I was angry. Which, as you know, is not a great combination for me. Tyra came over. Tyra Collette. I didn't invite her - she just - she just showed up. To see how I was, I guess. It was - I mean, I'd disappeared to New Jersey, and I guess everyone was worried. Or something," he looks at Lyla. "I don't know."

Lyla is silent.

"And . . . I don't really know what I was thinking or - but I - nothing happened, but I did - I started something, I would've let it happen. We didn't - she freaked out, she stopped. I don't know what I was doing, Lyla. I didn't know what I was doing. I just - it felt good to not to give a shit, you know?" He looks at Lyla. "But nothing happened. And afterward, I - I was really glad that nothing happened. I'm sorry. I just needed you to know."

Lyla reaches out for him; she pulls him into her arms and hugs him. Tightly. Deeply. She feels his body relax against her. "I know," she finally says. "I mean, I know already. Tyra - she told me. . . . She couldn't wait to tell me," she adds.

Tim pulls away and narrows his eyes. "Tyra told you?" he sounds surprised. Annoyed.

"Yeah," Lyla replies. Her voice is soft, easy. "And I don't care, Tim. I mean, I care, but I know - I know that I hurt you, I know that I - that I put you in that situation," she sighs. "And I don't care what you did - or didn't do. I mean, I'm glad you didn't sleep with her," she says. "I'm so glad. But even if you had - even if you had, it would be okay. We would be okay." She pauses. "Is she in love with you?"

"I don't know," Tim replies honestly, shaking his head. "I think there's something there. I think she's looking for someone, something - maybe, I don't know," he pauses. "It doesn't matter, though," he looks at her. "Because you know that I'm madly in love with you, right? Always have been," he gives her a sheepish, lop-sided smile. It melts her heart.

Lyla smiles warmly at him. "I love you, too," she pulls his face close to her, leaning her forehead against his. They stay like that for a moment, just listening to the other breathe, feeling the warmth of each other's skin. Finally, Lyla pulls away. "And I'm so done thinking about all the stupid stuff we've done - I've done - lately. I just want to think about you finishing up your last year at San Antonio State - and graduating from college - college!," she shakes her head in happy disbelief, "moving to Austin with me, coaching football, and just - just being happy together, you know?"

Tim smiles. "I know," he kisses her softly and pushes her back down on the bed. "And that sounds pretty damn good, Miss Garrity. Pretty damn good."


	15. Chapter 15

"Hi, Minds," Tim smiles as Mindy Riggins opens her front door. He holds up a six-pack of beer. "Gift," he says. "For my brother, actually. Is he here?"

"He's out back," Mindy cocks her head to the patio doors leading out to the Riggins' backyard. "Taking care of Stevie and the twins while I actually get to catch up on some 'Dr. Phil.' So don't drag him away from that," Mindy warns. She kisses Tim on the cheek. "And, hi."

Tim grins. "I wouldn't dream of it. Thanks, Minds. Want one?" He pulls a neck out of the six-pack and holds it out to her.

"Sure," Mindy shrugs and accepts it. "Thanks. And tell Billy not too many, okay?" she smiles.

"Will do, Minds, will do," Tim grins and heads out back.

Tim watches as Billy throws a football to Stevie and tries to coach him into throwing it back. The twins sit on the grass playing with Play-doh.

"Hey there, Papa Riggins," Tim calls.

Billy looks behind him and then turns back to Stevie. "What are you doin' here, Tim?"

Tim shrugs and sits down on a lawn chair. "Thought I'd come visit my bro. And my little people. Hi Stevie. Hi Henry. Hi Sophie," he grins. "I missed you guys."

"Yeah," Billy mutters. He doesn't turn around. "If you did, you'd come around more often. . . . Actually tell me what the hell is going on in your life."

"That's why I'm here, Billy," Tim calls. "To have a beer with my brother and catch up."

"Too little, too late."

"Seriously, Billy? Are you just gonna pout all afternoon? I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry."

"Stevie, go play with Henry and Sophie for a minute," Billy kisses Stevie on the forehead, hands him the football, and heads over to Tim. "Sorry for what, Timmy?" Billy asks.

"Sorry for . . ." Tim pauses as he offers Billy a beer. Billy takes it and sits down in a lawn chair next to him. "Taking off and not telling you where I was going. Not being around."

"Breaking up with your girlfriend and not talking to me about it?"

"That, too," Tim nods.

"Running off to New Jersey - New Jersey, Tim?" Billy shakes his head, "to confide in Jason Street rather than me, your own brother?"

"And that," Tim adds. "I'm sorry, Billy. Can we just move on now?"

Billy considers the offer for a moment, and then shrugs. "Okay. But seriously, if I'm not the first person you tell about every single thing from now on -" he glances at Tim's amused smile - "Okay, the second person you tell about every single thing from now on, I'm going to be really pissed. I mean it. Really pissed. Here's the pecking order, Timmy - Lyla, then me, got it?" He gestures with his hand for emphasis. "Lyla. Billy. There's no Jason Street in between there, no trips to New Jersey, got it?"

"I understand, Billy. You've made it perfectly clear," Tim is grinning.

"Actually, I should be, like, number one now because you and Lyla are kaput. So, it should be Billy, then -"

"I get your point, Billy, can we move on, please?" Tim raises an eyebrow. He shakes his head in amusement.

"Fine. You just remember that I'm the one that raised you, kid."

"I'm moving to Austin after graduation," Tim says, looking out at the kids.

"What?" Billy looks at him. "What the hell? We just talked about this, and here you are again - doing things I don't know about."

"Actually, no, Billy - you're the second person to know about it. Lyla's the first. So, technically, that's in accordance with your . . . pecking order," he flails his arms around, imitating Billy.

Billy is silent for a minute, absorbing Tim's news. "What do you mean, you're moving to Austin after graduation?" he finally asks.

"I got a job there," Tim replies, looking at Billy. "I mean, I think I've got a job there - with Coach Taylor. He's giving me a tryout this summer, anyway."

"What? A job with Coach? Like, at TMU?"

"Not like at TMU; at TMU," Tim takes a swig of his beer and leans his head back. "Coaching. Offense."

"No shit," Billy says. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Wow," Billy says before falling silent. He takes a swig of beer. "When do you go?"

"In two weeks."

"For how long?"

"A month."

"That's . . . that's right before you have to head back to San Antonio, isn't it?"

"Yup," Tim nods and takes another swig of his beer.

"What about helping out the Panthers this summer? Weren't you supposed to work with us?"

"Yeah," Tim says. "And I'm sorry about that. Coach is taking care of it for me with Coach Spivey. It sucks. But I can't turn this down, yunno?"

"And Coach Taylor is just . . . taking you in, huh?"

"I'm not moving in with him, Billy, I'm just gonna be workin' for him."

Billy sighs. "So that's it, then, is it? You decide - you and Lyla decide - that you're leavin' Dillon?"

"Something like that, yeah."

"What about your house?"

"I dunno," Tim raises his head and shrugs. "Honestly, I haven't had time to give it much thought. I'd like to keep it, I guess. I love that land, you know?" his face breaks into a smile as he thinks of the 43 acres he bought almost four years ago. The one good thing to come out of that chop shop.

"Yeah," Billy nods. "I know."

"And we did build a pretty great house there, right?" Tim grins at his brother.

"Cheers to that," Billy clinks his beer bottle against Tim's.

"I'm gonna come back, Billy," Tim says. "We're gonna come back."

"Are you?" Billy asks. The question hangs in the air. "I knew you and Lyla would work things out," he says finally. "I mean, y'all are - y'all belong together." He pauses. "I'm gonna miss you."

"I'm not goin' yet," Tim says. "And I'm gonna come visit a lot. Promise," he smiles. "I'm not letting those munchkins grow up without their Uncle Timmy around. Who's gonna teach 'em to play football? You?" he scoffs.

Billy laughs and throws his beer cap at Tim. The brothers fall silent as they watch the kids play together in the grass.

Finally, Billy speaks. "I'm happy for you, Timmy. You know that, right?"

Tim nods. "I know that, Billy."


	16. Chapter 16

"Nice job, Dad, very nice," Lyla smiles as her father rises to meet her and Tim as they enter the private dining room in the West Dillon Golf & Country Club. The table setting was extravagant, the lighting dim, Sinatra playing faintly in the background.

"Didn't I tell you, baby?" Buddy Garrity gives her his widest smile as he puts his arms around her and hugs her. "We're gonna have a -proper- celebration here. Tim," he nods and clasps his hand. "Hi there, son."

"Hi, Mr. Garrity. Thanks - um - for this," he looks nervously around the small room, outfitted far too lavishly for his taste. He has always felt uncomfortable in this place - this club - the kind of club to which families like the Riggins clan aren't ever cordially invited. He still remembers - painfully - the pigeon debacle that occurred here so many years ago. Although Mr. Garrity has brought them back here on occasion since then, he's never enjoyed himself here. But he's learned from past experience, watching everyone else's cues in terms of how to behave - what to wear, what to do, what to say, what to eat. People like the Garritys, the McCoys. Families he's never really been able to relate to. Except for Lyla. He hates this place.

Tim puts a forced smile on his face and follows Lyla to the table, pulling out her chair for her. "Thanks," she smiles up at him and squeezes his hand. She knows.

When Billy, Mindy, and their three munchkins make a noisy entrance into the dining room, following behind a tuxedoed waiter, Tim is relieved. He knows the discomfort he feels will be shared by Billy and Mindy; their even more distant familiarity with this environment will shield him - at least partly - from Buddy Garrity's never-ending scrutiny. Scrutiny of the guy that's taking away his daughter.

"Hi," Tim smiles warmly at everyone. He picks up Sophie and swings her around. "Hi there, baby girl," he grins at her and kisses her tummy. She giggles and squeals.

"Did anyone call ahead for the high chairs?" Mindy asks expectantly, holding Henry in one arm and holding Stevie's hand with her other, who himself is holding tightly onto a crumped piece of paper.

Buddy gestures to the waiter - "Yes, we did, honey," he smiles at Mindy. "Frank? Will you bring those around?"

The waiter smiles and nods, quickly disappearing to retrieve high chairs. Two busboys bring out trays of water glasses and several bottles of wine. Buddy nods as they deposit everything on the table, and begin pouring wine for everyone.

"Any beer here?" Billy asks, watching the wine distastefully.

"Sure, Billy - it's not a Texas celebration without beer, is it?" Buddy grins and claps Billy on the back. "I've got a bucket of Coronas on its way. So, where's Angela?" he asks. Casually. Artfully.

"Should be on her way. With Tyra, I think," Billy replies, looking around him. "Hey, Timmy; hey Lyla. Hey, so congrats," he looks at Lyla. "I'm happy for you."

"Thanks," Lyla smiles at him. "Hi Mindy. Hi guys," she gets up and approaches Henry and Stevie. "Hi there," she kneels down in front of Stevie.

"Hi Lyla," Stevie replies with a lopsided grin. "I made picture today. For you and Uncle Tim."

"You did?" Lyla claps her hands together with excitement. "Can I see?"

Stevie proudly shoves the crumpled piece of paper at Lyla. Tim approaches Lyla from behind, still carrying a giggling Sophie. Lyla is smoothing out what looks like a finger painting. "Wow, Stevie, thank you," Lyla exclaims. "This is incredible. Did you really do this all by yourself?"

Stevie nods, quite proud of himself. Mindy is smiling down at him. "He did, spent all afternoon working on that."

"Just incredible," Lyla smiles and gives him a hug. "Thank you, kiddo, we'll find a really great spot for it at our new place," she looks up above her at Tim, holding up the painting so that he can see it.

"That is talent right there, Stevie," Tim nods with a grin on his face. "Pure talent. Thank you, cowboy."

"What did my baby grandson do?" Angela Collette's voice rings through the bustle of the room, as she sweeps in with Tyra. "Sorry we're late, everyone, I mean really - I was ready but I just needed to, well you know how these things are. Hi sweetheart," she gives Mindy a kiss, "and hi my little babies," she kisses Henry, "Timmy," she smiles flirtatiously at Tim before kissing his cheek.

"Angela," Buddy's voice booms as he approaches her. "Good to see you," he smiles at her sweetly.

"Hi Buddy," she smiles back and turns her cheek toward him so that he can give her a kiss. He holds onto her slightly longer than necessary. Lyla raises an eyebrow and looks away. She's forgiven her father for cheating her mother - she forgave him long ago - but she's not sure that she can ever forget that it was this woman - Angela Collette - who was the nail in the proverbial coffin.

When Lyla's being honest with herself, she knows that this is not really fair to Angela, as her father apparently cheated on her mother numerous times before. And besides, her mom is happy now. With Bob. In California. But, still, it was -this- woman - and her loud, abrasive . . . interruption . . . of Lyla's perfect family that will always stay with her. That day at the church, Angela's angry tirade, her mother's breakdown. Before that day, Lyla could hide away in her happy family life, even during her worst days after Jason's accident. After that day - that horrid, embarrassing morning at church - no longer.

Lyla shakes off the unpleasant memories, forcing herself to smile and greet Angela. They're almost family now, aren't they? Extended, as it were.

"Congratulations, Lyla," Angela smiles at her. "You snagged a good one. It's really too bad," she says thoughtfully, honestly, as she looks at Tyra, who has glued herself to Mindy's side and is clearly going to be working studiously to avoid both Tim and Lyla this evening.

"Um, thanks . . . I guess," Lyla says, furrowing her brows and trying to ignore the "really too bad" reference, as it's clear Angela has always hoped for a double Collette-Riggins connection.

"Everyone, sit, sit," Buddy is trying to get everyone's attention, ushering them to the table. "Angela, you, here, next to me," he says in a quieter (seductive?) tone.

Lyla shudders. Seriously gross. She lets herself be guided back to the table by Tim, who pushes her down with a strong hand into her chair, and sits down next to her. He sees her watching her father and Angela, and squeezes her hand.

"Don't," he whispers into her ear. "Just don't." His voice is strong, calming. She nods, almost imperceptibly, and puts a smile on her face, reaching for her glass of wine.

Conversation flows surprisingly easily. With alcohol, everything does. Lyla spends most of the evening in a slightly removed haze, watching the Garrity-Riggins-Collette gathering as if she is floating above it all. She always feels torn when she returns to Dillon. On one hand, it's her home - the world she's grown up in, the place that she's embraced almost her entire life. On the other hand, it's small, this place. This town. Dillon. So narrow.

In many ways, she already feels so far removed from here, from her father, from this world. It's strange how quickly you become someone else in college, how the place you come from - your home, your old life - can seem so foreign when you return. And here they all are, celebrating her. Them. A new life. Leaving all of this behind.

Lyla glances at Tim sideways as he, Billy, and her father engage in a lively discussion over Dillon Panther football this season. A slight smile plays on her lips as she watches Tim laughing over . . . she doesn't really know, something about a new sophomore . . . running back? He has a grin on his face; he's raising a beer to his lips and nodding. She loves watching him when he doesn't know that she's watching him. He's beautiful. Especially when he's relaxed, not . . . worrying or hurting or being her protector. Just laughing. Talking football. Feeling confident. He's the one piece of Dillon that she hasn't outgrown. Couldn't outgrow.

She looks at her other side, where Mindy is simultaneously feeding Henry and cooing at Sophie. Mindy - she's a good mom. Who would've thought? Is that the snobby thing again, the attitude Tyra's always complaining about? Lyla sighs. It's true - the Landing Strip isn't the ideal place of employment. But Billy and Mindy . . . they're happy. They have three healthy, adorable kids. They're good. It's what Tim wants. This. What Billy and Mindy have. Lyla knows that it's why he's willing to leave this place, this family, this life behind - because he and Lyla share something that he wants to pass onto his kids - their kids - he wants them to be part of an incredible love, to come from an incredible love, to have that love.

Lyla turns back to Tim and her father, where the conversation has shifted from Dillon football to San Antonio football. Different geography, same topic.

". . . be going to the draft early, won't he?" her father is asking.

"Probably," Tim is nodding. "Word on the street, anyway."

"Well, it's your last season, so even if he does pull the trigger, won't affect this one."

"True," Tim says, taking another swig of beer.

"But that kid - he's something special. What an arm." Buddy grins, shaking his head.

Tim nods. "For sure."

Lyla takes his hand; he glances at her momentarily - smiling - squeezing her hand, before turning back to her father. She takes a sip of her wine and sighs. Happily. He is hers. This is hers.


	17. Chapter 17

The celebratory dinner is over. Buddy Garrity has made his speech, clapped everyone on the back, toasted Tim and Lyla, and flirted sufficiently with Angela Collette. Everyone is heading home.

"Tyra," Tim touches her shoulder as she heads to the door with her mom. "Hold up a sec."

Tyra nods to her mom to wait for her. She looks up at Tim flatly. They haven't spoken at all this evening. They haven't spoken since she left his house in tears.

"Let me give you a ride home, okay?" Tim says.

"No," Tyra shakes her head immediately. "Nope. Is that it?"

"Tyra, come on, I'd like to talk to you."

"Where's Lyla?" Tyra rolls her eyes.

"Her dad's taking her home," Tim ignores the tone. "And I'd very much like to talk to you."

"Well, I guess I should be flattered that you'd 'very much like' to do anything with me," Tyra says sarcastically.

Tim sighs. "Look, Tyra. Lyla and I? We're leaving for Austin in two days to find an apartment. I go back there for a month about a week after that. And when I get back here at the end of July, it'll be for about 72 hours - just enough time to pack up my shit again and get my butt to football practice in San Antonio. So I don't have a lot of time here. We're family now. Do me the favor of a conversation. Let me give you a ride home."

Tyra sighs. "Fine," she says. "Mom - Tim's gonna give me a ride; go on ahead without me, okay?" she calls over to her mother.

"Alright, hon," Angela Collette comes over and gives her a kiss on the cheek. "See you later, kids; have fun," she winks at Tyra. Tyra rolls her eyes. Her mother just doesn't get it.

"Come on," Tyra snaps at Tim and heads out the door. She spots his truck and heads over to it, as he follows behind her. He opens the door for her; she hops in and slams the door behind her. Tim goes around to the driver's side door, and climbs in. He starts the engine, and they pull out of the country club. They drive in silence for a few minutes.

Finally, Tyra speaks up. "So, did you know you were going to Austin when I - when you - when you let me humiliate myself at your place last week?"

Tim pulls his eyes off the road momentarily to glance at Tyra. "You didn't humiliate yourself, Tyra," he shakes his head and looks back at the road.

"You didn't answer my question, Tim - did you know?"

Tim pauses. "Yes," he finally says. Simply. "Yes, I knew."

Tyra nods slowly, taking this information in. "And yet, you let me go on and on - fate, us, staying in Dillon. . . ."

"Tyra, I didn't - I mean I knew, but no one else did. I hadn't talked with - told Lyla yet, I hadn't told anyone. I just wasn't in the frame of mind to . . . to hammer out any plans that afternoon."

"I see," Tyra smiles. Coldly. "You were just in the right frame of mind for a little Ty Ty. A little extracurricular screwing before following the ole ball and chain to Austin?"

Tim sighs. "No, Tyra - that wasn't - it wasn't like that." He pauses, trying to collect himself, trying to figure out how to make her understand. "That day. That day was a pretty shitty day. I didn't - I wasn't in the mood to see anyone, I just thought I'd sit there and drink myself into . . . I don't know what." He glances at Tyra again. "You know me, Tyra - I can do stupid shit sometimes. A lot," he corrects himself.

"You sure can," Tyra agrees. It's not a friendly agreement.

"Lyla and I - we'd had another . . . fight," he says carefully. "And, I just -" he shakes his head, not sure what he wants to say next. He keeps his eyes on the road.

"She slept with someone else. I know," Tyra finishes for him.

"Yeah," Tim replies. "And I was . . . ."

"You wanted to even the score, figured I'd be up for it - like always, right Tim?" Tyra smiles coldly. "Good ole Tyra Collette, always ready for a roll in the sack when Little Miss Lyla breaks your heart?"

Tim is silent. Finally, he speaks. "Honestly, Tyra? No," he replies. "I wouldn't have sought you out. For that. You just came by at the wrong time. If had been -" he shakes his head, "If it had been anyone, I would've . . . I would've probably done the same thing. I'm sorry. I don't have an . . . excuse. I'm sorry."

They drive in silence for a few minutes. "I shouldn't have come by," Tyra finally says. "I knew - I knew you were pretty fucked up, anyway; I mean I didn't know -that-. But I -" she cuts herself off and sighs. "I don't know. Maybe part of me was looking for . . . something. I don't know," she shakes her head. "I'm happy for you, Tim. I am. I mean, I'm trying to be."

"Thanks," Tim replies slowly. "So why did you tell Lyla about what happened - what didn't happen - or whatever - between us?"

Tyra seems caught off guard. "She confronted you, huh?" a small smile creeps across her face. "So life isn't so perfect after all, is it."

Tim glances at her with narrowed eyes. "Was that the point - that she'd confront me? Break whatever last hope there might be?"

"No," Tyra says. Defensively. "I just thought. . . . Whatever, Tim; she marched into my sister's house in that high and mighty way she has, and I just wanted to - it was a spur of the moment thing - I just wanted to -"

"Put her in her place," Tim finishes for her quietly.

Tyra doesn't respond.

"She didn't confront me, Tyra," Tim continues. Slowly. "She didn't care. Amazing, huh?" Tim smiles, his eyes still on the road. "She didn't care." He looks at Tyra. "I told her. And she told me that she already knew. Had already known. And she didn't care."

"I don't understand," Tyra narrows her eyes. "If you told her, and she didn't care, then why do you give a shit about what I told her?"

"Because it wasn't your place, Tyra, it wasn't your place. It was mine."

"Who cares whose place it was? She knows, you know, I know, we all know. And apparently it makes not one goddamn bit of difference anyway," Tyra throws up her hands.

"I care because you did it to hurt me," Tim replies. "You did it to torpedo my relationship with Lyla. That's why I care. Because you're supposed to be my friend."

Tyra is silent. Tim drives the rest of the way to her house in silence. He pulls into her driveway and shuts off the engine.

"Look, Tim," Tyra finally says, "You've hurt me plenty over the years. But I'm still your friend. And I hope that you're still mine. In Dillon, in Austin. Wherever life takes us."

Tim nods. "I am. I'll always be."

Tyra throws her arms around him tightly. They hug one another. Finally, Tyra pulls away and opens the passenger side of the door. "I'm gonna miss you, Tim Riggins," she smiles, trying to hold back tears. "You're a jerk, but you're family to me. And I'm gonna miss you."


	18. Chapter 18

Lyla puts her wine glass on the side table and munches on some popcorn. She leans her head back against the sofa, relaxing as she zones out everything except for "The Golden Girls." Guilty pleasure. She's loved it since she's been a kid. There's something so comforting about these women - so far from her in every sense of the word: Lyla knows nothing about Miami (it's not Texas), nothing about what a friendship between older widows and divorcees would actually mean. But there is something so compelling, so wonderful about this friendship between these four women. She's always loved them.

She loves how the show makes her feel - it takes her back to childhood, when she used to watch reruns with her little brother and sister - about this world so far away - while her mom made dinner. It's amazing how things like this can take you back in time: the introductory notes of the theme song, Rose's laughter, Dorothy's wit, Blanche's flirting. It comforts Lyla when she's scared, sick, lonely. When her parents split up, when Jason got hurt, when Tim stopped calling her at Vanderbilt . . . the Golden Girls were always here for her.

Lyla throws her feet up on the sofa and looks around her. Part of her wishes that things could stay this way forever. A glass of wine, a bowl of popcorn, a quiet cozy house, "The Golden Girls." Lyla's eyes stop on one of Tim's well-worn footballs lying on the floor. She unconsciously touches her hoodie - an old, faded Dillon Panthers hoodie emblazoned with a #33. Life is so easy here. This house. This place. The life she and Tim would have here. Will have here.

Vanderbilt has given her confidence, a future, something to reach for; but it hasn't eased her apprehension about the world beyond Dillon. Sometimes, when she's lying in bed next to Tim, she wonders if she's making the right choice - pushing him, pulling him with her to Austin. Starting a new job, a new life, in a new place - a place that's different than what she knows. What she's known. But she's not supposed to be the scared one; she's supposed to know. Know What She Wants. No one's ever asked her if she was scared.

She and Tim have an apartment now; they found one in two days. Like clockwork. It's a great place - two bedrooms, two baths, and a small den. Her father will chip in for the rent and amenities (24-hour gym downstairs, two parking spots in the below-ground parking garage), just like he chipped in to furnish this place - he wants his baby girl to live in comfort. So she's set. Walking distance to the Capitol and a short drive to TMU. She and Tim are supposed to be there in a week. But then Tim goes back to San Antonio State for football season and to finish his "second" senior year. And Lyla will be on her own. Starting her first job, figuring out a new city, making a life for herself. Without Tim, without her family, without her support system. Yeah, she's scared. Lyla wonders if her new cable station will carry "The Golden Girls" in the evenings.

When there is a knock on the door, she considers simply ignoring it. Someone looking for Tim, probably. Except all of the lights are on. And Lyla doesn't ignore things. She sighs, and throws her legs back onto the floor, setting aside her popcorn bowl.

She opens the door and sighs. "Hi Tyra," she says. "Tim's not here."

"I know," Tyra replies. "Mindy told me that he and Billy are out drinking. I know Mindy'll be devastated when Tim goes back to school, and he can't take Billy out for drunken booze-fests anymore," she grins.

Lyla laughs and shakes her head. "I'm sure."

"Anyway, I'm here to see you. Actually."

Lyla looks surprised. "Um. Well, sure, come on in," she steps aside and gestures for Tyra to enter.

"Thanks," Tyra walks in and ushers past her.

"Have a seat, please - can I - I'm having some white wine; can I . . .?"

"Sure, sure," Tyra says, plopping down on the sofa. "Mmm, popcorn," she helps herself.

"So, what can I do for you?" Lyla asks as she walks over to the kitchen island and retrieves a bottle of wine. She pulls another wine glass from a cabinet and gives Tyra a generous pour.

Tyra watches Lyla return with a glass of wine for her. "Thanks," she says, swirling it around and watching the lines of wine run down the inside of the glass. "Have you ever done, like, a wine tasting?" she asks Lyla. "They say you're supposed to swirl. . . ."

"No," Lyla shakes her head and retrieves her own wine glass. "Not much demand for one at school," she sinks onto the sofa next to Tyra and curls her legs under her. "Or in Dillon."

"True that," Tyra snorts. "To Dillon," she raises her glass.

Lyla doesn't raise hers. "So what's up, Tyra?" she asks, taking a sip.

Tyra looks around her. "You guys did a nice job with this place. It's . . . different than Billy and Mindy's . . . nicer."

Lyla shrugs. "Thanks. It's really Tim and Billy - I mean, they built the place. And my dad, I guess. He threw in some money for the . . . granite and hardwood and stuff. Figured if I was going to be living here, it should be - what's the word - befitting. Befitting a Garrity," she rolls her eyes as a smile plays on her lips.

Tyra grins. "Befitting a Garrity," she repeats. "Well, it's nice, anyway. Are you gonna keep it?"

"Yes," she says slowly. "We're keeping it. I mean, I can't imagine Tim wanting to give this place up. The land."

Tyra nods, considering it. "Are you coming back?" she looks at Lyla.

Lyla pauses. "It's hard to know, isn't it?" she finally says. "I mean, if you're asking me if we're planning on coming back, the answer is yes . . . . I don't know what's going to happen three years from now, to be honest. I don't know how Tim's going to feel, what he's going to want, what we'll - what we'll want."

"Why are you taking Tim away from this?" Tyra asks. Not meanly. Just. Matter of fact.

Lyla narrows her eyes. "Is this why you're here, Tyra?" her tone grows cold, defensive. "Are you here to - do you want to tell me again about how Tim tried to sleep with you?" she asks.

"No," Tyra shakes her head. "That's not what I'm trying to do. Really. Honestly, I didn't even - I came here to . . . apologize, really. I came here to make peace. I don't want - look, you and Tim are - well, you're what you are, and like it or not, we're gonna be in each other's lives, and I don't want us to hate each other. I don't," she repeats.

"You're the one who hates me, Tyra; it seems like you've always hated me," Lyla mutters, taking another drink of wine.

"I don't. I mean, I did - it's true. A long time ago, I did."

The girls are silent for a minute. Finally, Tyra speaks. "Do you know what it's like to love someone and not have them love you back? Have you ever felt that?" she asks.

Lyla examines Tyra's face, as she considers her response. Finally, she shakes her head slowly. "I - I don't have - with Jason. When he - when we fell apart."

"No," Tyra replies. "No. Jason loved you. Maybe you two - maybe something broke there, but he loved you."

Lyla swallows and nods. "I don't," she replies quietly. Honestly.

"I remember this day," Tyra stares at the television screen in front of them. "Back in high school. It wasn't long after Jason's accident. You were in the cafeteria. By yourself. That, in and of itself, was weird, you know? Because you were never by yourself," she glances back at Lyla, who is watching her closely. "You were always with the cheerleaders. Or the football players. Or the cheerleaders and the football players. That was you. Lyla Garrity, Jason Street's girlfriend."

Lyla is quiet, waiting for Tyra to continue.

"It was after - after everyone found out you and Tim -" Tyra falters, "that you and Tim were sleeping together. It was after everyone - after I - found out." Tyra shrugs. "I actually felt kinda badly for you, yunno? I felt badly. That day. I don't think I'd ever felt badly for you in my life," she laughs sadly. "Ever. But that day, you just seemed - you seemed so sad. You were there, at a table in the cafeteria. Alone. And it was clear you were . . . humiliated, you know? That you . . . knew people were looking at you, talking about you. The cheerleader who screwed her boyfriend's best friend."

Lyla leans her head back against the couch, remembering. She hates going back to that time. It all comes flooding back too easily.

"Anyway. Tim. He walked in. And I watched him. I watched him watch you. And walk over to you. There were these guys - I don't know who they were - I don't know what they were saying to you, but it was clear they were just there, standing over you. You were trying to ignore them. And Tim just walked over and stopped," Tyra pauses. "And, I dunno," she shrugs, "I guess he scared them off. And he sat down with you. I felt badly for you," she repeats with a small laugh. "I just thought . . . he was making things worse for you, and he didn't even see it."

Lyla continues to watch Tyra quietly as Tyra twirls her wineglass. "I confronted him," Tyra looks at Lyla. "When he left your table, I mean. I confronted him after you - I guess you asked him to leave. I confronted him about - I mean - I asked him why he'd want to make things worse for you. And he didn't answer. He just watched you. Stared at you. With this . . . look, you know? This look," she smiles bitterly. "And I knew," she shrugs. "I knew."

"You knew?" Lyla shakes her head, confused.

"I knew he loved you," Tyra looks at her. "That's the moment I knew he was in love with you," she laughs quietly. "You know, up until that point - up until then, I -" she shakes her head, "I just kept - I convinced myself that one day maybe he'd wake up one morning and look at me differently. Maybe if I had sex with him one more time he'd suddenly realize I was the greatest thing on earth. And, you know? He never did. He fell in love with you. And that was the day. The day I got it. I remember that day," she says slowly.

"I'm sorry," Lyla says quietly. "I didn't - then, I didn't . . . ."

"I know you didn't," Tyra finishes for her. "I know. Why would you? You were so wrapped up in yourself . . . and Jason . . . and this picture-perfect future you'd built for yourself - why would you even notice that Tim was in love with you, or that I was . . . that I was in love with him?"

Lyla shakes her head. "I - if I could take it back, if I could go back and do things differently -"

"Would you?" Tyra asks. "Would you really do things differently?"

Lyla doesn't respond. "I don't know," she says finally. Honestly. "I don't know that I would."

Tyra laughs. Her voice is filled with emotion. "You know, I spent - god, I don't even know how long I spent hating Tim. Hating you. Hating everyone. When I started dating Landry Clarke - remember him? - I wanted him to be Tim. I hated that he wasn't Tim. And I let him know it. God, I treated him badly. I don't know why," she shakes her head. "I guess 'cause he let me. He cared about me. He loved me. And it was nice to finally be the one on that end, yunno?" she looks at Lyla.

Lyla nods. "Yeah," she says softly.

Tyra sighs. "I don't hate you, Lyla," Tyra says slowly. "Tim. Broke my heart," she smiles as she looks down at her hands. "And that was hard. It was hard to watch him be the boyfriend to you that I'd always wanted him to be to me. But I don't hate you. And I don't want to hate you. I don't want to have this . . . thing between us. I want to be part of Tim's life," she says, almost pleadingly. "And I can't be if you hate me."

Lyla smiles. Genuinely. For the first time that night. "I don't," she says. "I don't hate you. I'm . . . I don't think I ever really understood. I mean, I knew. How you felt about him. But it's just," she shakes her head. "I know how badly we hurt Jason. I just - I guess I didn't really think about . . . anything, really."

Tyra takes another sip of wine; she's silent for a moment. "So," she finally says. "Really. Why are you taking Tim away from here?"

Lyla is silent for a moment. "Because I love him," she replies. "And I'm not the same girl anymore, not the same girl I was when I dated Jason and wanted to follow him to Notre Dame and the be the . . . little football wife," she says softly. "I'm not that person anymore. Honestly," she pauses, "I don't even know who that girl is anymore." She sighs. "I love him, but I don't want to give up my life for him, you know?" she looks at Tyra.

Tyra nods.

"I think - I think that something changed when Jason got hurt," Lyla continues. "Something changed in me. In all of us," she smiles ruefully. "For me, it was being faced with this - seeing my reality crumble, you know? I had based my whole . . . my whole existence on following Jason, and it - it just . . . fell apart. It all fell apart. I didn't - it was the first time - after Jason and I broke up, it was the first time I thought about myself, you know? What I wanted to do. Who I wanted to be. This. This job. Austin. This is on my terms, you know? Tim and I . . . it's weird, right, that our relationship is so much more . . ." she searches for the right word, "equal? Equal than Jason and I ever were? Does that even make sense?" she asks. "It's-" she shakes her head without waiting for a response, "it's crazy. Jason was - is - this amazing guy, he was incredible - incredible at football, incredible at everything. But it was all about him - his future, his career, his . . . his world. I was living in his world. Tim is . . . Tim's so different, you know? He never would have let me follow him to San Antonio State. He didn't." She stops for a moment.

"Anyway," Lyla finally continues, "I love him. So much. Not that I didn't love Jason, but - it was different. It wasn't . . . sustainable," she says slowly. She looks up at Tyra. "So," she says matter-of-factly, "so I'm taking Tim away from here because I love him, because he loves me," she smiles, almost shyly. "And because he knows this is right for me . . . for us."

Tyra looks down at her hands. "You're lucky," she says quietly. Without malice. "I hope I find that one day."

"You will," Lyla smiles at her. Warmly.


	19. Chapter 19

Tim slips into the house while Lyla and Tyra are dancing - dancing? - and singing along to Rihanna. The bass is quite loud; the girls are even louder . . . and off-key. They don't hear him come in. He stops in his tracks, keys in hand, breaking into a wide grin.

"It's a thief in the night to come and grab you. . . ." Lyla.

"Here in the city of wonder . . . ." Tyra.

"Disturbia . . . ." Lyla. Tyra. Seemingly never-ending. Clearly the ladies can't hear what they sound like.

Tim quietly closes the door behind him and stands there watching them for a minute.

Finally, after a particularly aggressive hair-shake, Tyra looks up and catches sight of him. She immediately stops. "Hi," she says. Embarrassed.

"Hi," Tim raises an eyebrow, still grinning.

"Hey there," Lyla looks up and bounces over to him.

He leans down and kisses her. "Having fun?" he brushes some hair out of her face.

"Yeah, we are," Lyla slurs. "A lot of fun." Were she not drunk, her answer would certainly have surprised her. Fun with Tyra. Altogether a new concept.

"Looks like it," Tim's raises his eyebrows in an amused manner. "What happened to a quiet night home with 'The Golden Girls'? What exactly . . . is all this?"

"Change of plans," Lyla slurs, floating away from Tim and back toward Tyra.

"I just stopped by to talk," Tyra says quickly, tucking her hair behind her ear and plopping down onto the couch.

"And to try out for American Idol, apparently," Tim grins and picks up an empty wine bottle from the coffee table. He notices that there are two others like it on the kitchen island.

"We're having some fun," Lyla giggles. "Girls' night fun, like - like boys' night fun."

Tim's still sporting an amused grin as he sweeps up the bottles and dumps them into the recycling bin. "So I see," he replies. His eyes twinkle. "Well, ladies, I'm wiped, so I'm gonna call it a night. Lyla? Coming?"

"No thanks, grandpa," Lyla throws herself onto the couch next to Tyra.

"You know it's, like, 2 a.m., right?" Tim smiles and comes over to her to kiss the top of her head. "What's that, about four hours past your usual bedtime? Grandma?"

Lyla sticks her tongue out at him. "Tyra, do you want to crack open another bottle?" she looks over at Tyra, who's now leaning back against the couch, looking as if the late hour and alcohol are finally hitting her.

"No," Tyra shakes her head. "Thanks. I should go - I'm exhausted."

"No, you can't - I mean you can't drive now," Lyla says. "Just crash here. We have the room. Tim - can you . . . .?"

Tyra looks up at Tim, who's looking at Lyla. "No, I don't want -" Tyra shakes her head.

"Don't be silly," Lyla is saying. "Tim - get her some stuff, okay?"

Tim nods. "We don't have beds back in those extra rooms yet, but we have a couple air mattresses - okay with you?"

"Sure," Tyra nods. She's suddenly uncomfortable, as if just realizing that she's here, in the middle of Tim and Lyla's home, at 2 a.m. Wasn't she just pouring out her soul to Lyla a couple hours ago? About how Tim broke her heart? And now they're . . . all here together. One big happy family.

Tim disappears; Tyra hears him rummaging around in one of the back bedrooms. Lyla is still bouncing her head from side to side to the music, oblivious to Tyra's discomfort.

"Lyla, I think I really should go - my mom - she'll be wondering -"

"No she won't," Lyla waves away Tyra's concerns. "She's already asleep, and by the time she wakes up in the morning you'll be home. Seriously," she puts a hand on Tyra's arm. "We're drunk." She giggles.

Tyra laughs. "Yeah. We are."

"And I do not go to bed at 10 p.m. every night," Lyla adds. "That's - crazy."

"Okay, grandma," Tyra teases. "Sure. I believe you."

Lyla laughs. "Okay, maybe on some nights," she pauses. "'Cause we're grown-ups now." Her voice is thoughtful, more serious.

"Yeah, I guess we are," Tyra replies. She's quiet for a minute. She's not in the mood to be contemplative anymore. She feels raw, exhausted. Her new Rihanna-dancing BFF is now privy to the private thoughts and emotions that have been running through her brain - and her heart - for years. She's just . . . tired.

And Tim is making up a bed for her to spend the night here. So that she can sleep 50 feet from Tim and Lyla. Who will be sleeping together. In the house where she and Tim almost made love not two weeks ago. The house that Tim built for himself and Lyla. Where they won't be living a year from now. The house to which Tyra decided to come tonight to get insanely drunk with the girl she used to hate, and to pour out her history with Tim to the person who screwed it up. Life is so fucked up sometimes.

Tyra closes her eyes and rests her head against the back of the couch. She just wants to go to sleep.


	20. Chapter 20

Tim has his back to her, apparently attempting to make coffee, when she pads into the kitchen the next morning. She watches him pick up a measuring scoop from inside the bag, eye it, shrug, then drop it back inside, dumping coffee grinds directly into the machine. Yup. That's the Tim she knows. She watches him rummage around for an oversized coffee mug in one of the cabinets, and start filling (and re-filling) it with water, which he then dumps into the machine. He pauses between each cup, as if trying to instinctively find the right balance between the unknown quantity of coffee grinds and the unscientific dumping of water via coffee mug. Finally, he shrugs again, closes the lid and turns on the machine.

When he turns around he is surprised to see her standing there, eyeing him. "Hi," he says.

"Hi," Tyra grins. "Is this the way you make coffee every day? You could have your own show on the Food Network or something."

Tim laughs, glancing back at the fancy stainless steel Cuisinart. "I don't usually make coffee."

"I'm shocked," Tyra shakes her head, still grinning, as she slides onto a bar stool.

"Garrity's probably a little more . . . exact. With this stuff, anyway." he grins. He runs a hand through his hair.

"Well, it is a lot for Lyla to expect you to know how to work a coffee maker. It's not a keg. Or a football," Tyra raises an eyebrow.

"In my defense, this one seems . . . especially ridiculous," Tim grins, opening up the refrigerator. "Want a bagel?"

"Yeah," Tyra replies, watching him rummage through the refrigerator. "Sure."

Tim is silent for a moment, burying his head deep in the fridge; finally, he emerges, triumphantly holding up a bag of bagels and a tub of cream cheese. "Good?" He asks.

Tyra laughs. "Good. Thanks. Need help?"

"No, I'm okay. I just need to find - where did she put . . . ." he trails off, looking around the kitchen.

"Knives?" Tyra volunteers. "Over there," she points to the sink.

"Right, right," Tim grabs a big knife out of the wooden block by the sink, pulls a couple of plates out of the cabinet, and starts slicing bagels.

"You probably want you to use a cutting board?" Tyra suggests, half-statement, half-question.

Tim shrugs. "I don't have any idea where one of those might be," he continues slicing.

"Do you actually . . . do anything around here?" Tyra asks.

Tim looks up at her. "Well, I mean, I'm not around here all that much. And at school - I, like, don't make my own food or anything like that."

"Of course," Tyra smiles.

"Besides, Garrity's usually up by now . . . . Not sure she'll be up for a while today, though," he grins. "Y'all had quite the night, huh?"

Tyra smiles, looking down at the granite, running her fingers along the smooth, cool top of the kitchen island. "We did. We . . . we had a lot to talk about."

Tim doesn't respond; he's still slicing bagels. Roughly.

"Years worth of baggage," Tyra muses as she watches him putting bagel halves into the toaster. "Make sure it's on light," she says.

"Huh?"

"Light. The light setting."

"Oh, okay. Right," he turns a knob on the toaster and turns back to her, leaning his elbows on the counter top across from her.

"We're cool, though," Tyra says.

"You're cool, though," Tim repeats.

"Lyla and I . . . we talked - about a lot of stuff . . . . Stuff that needed to be talked about. Years ago," she says slowly. "Yunno?" she looks at him.

Tim nods slowly. "Okay," he replies.

"Don't worry, we didn't compare notes or anything," Tyra laughs, giving him a quick once-over. He's clad in workout shorts and a thin tee shirt. "Worried how you'd fare?"

Tim smiles. "I'm glad you and Lyla . . . worked things out."

The toaster pings - Tim pulls out a bagel and dumps in another one. He throws the toasted bagel on a plate and pushes the plate toward Tyra. He slides the cream cheese toward her, along with the knife he used to slice the bagels.

"Thanks," Tyra says. She starts spreading cream cheese on a bagel half. "She's not terrible, actually," she says. Grudgingly.

Tim smirks. "I appreciate that, Tyra," he says, his eyes twinkling.

"Whatever," Tyra rolls her eyes. She smiles lightly. "I mean I get that -you- don't think she's terrible . . . and I'm here, right?"

"Yup," Tim replies, turning around to check on the coffee maker. It appears to be done . . . doing whatever it's going to do. "Want some?" he looks back and forth between the coffee pot and Tyra.

"Well, it's black," Tyra cocks her head to the side, considering the offer, "so you couldn't have screwed it up too badly, anyway," she grins at him.

Tim fishes out some coffee mugs from the cabinet and pours two cups. He slides one over to her.

She wraps her hands around the warm mug. "Thanks."

Tim picks up the other mug and takes a sip. He watches her for a moment. "So. Did you get the job?" he finally asks.

It takes her a moment to comprehend what he's asking about. "Yeah, I did," she finally says. She smiles. "I'm officially a member of the Dillon High faculty. Or will be in a month, anyway." She pulls off a piece of her bagel and pops it into her mouth.

"Congratulations," Tim replies. "Cheers," he raises his coffee mug.

She clinks her cup against his. "Thanks," she says. "I'm - I'm happy about that. Nervous. But happy. It'll be weird goin' back there, though, that's for sure. I can't imagine having to deal with another . . . me."

"You've come a long way since high school."

"Yeah," she nods, ripping off another piece of bagel. "I think about some of the stuff I did . . . back then . . . and I can hardly believe it. That - who I was then . . . ." she trails off. She smiles at him. "You, too, you know. College guy. Never thought we'd be saying that all those years ago, did we?"

Tim smiles, shaking his head. "That's for sure."

"Remember those days?" Tyra traces a finger around her mug. "Showing up drunk to practice? Making out with rally girls in the hallways? Me yelling at you about making out with rally girls in the hallways?"

Tim laughs. "Yeah. I remember."

"You're not still doing that, are you?" she raises an eyebrow teasingly. "I mean, Lyla's not there to keep an eye on you."

Tim laughs. "There aren't any rally girls at San Antonio. They're called sorority girls."

"Mhmm," Tyra smiles knowingly.

"And no, I'm not making out with anyone in between classes. I'm a very well behaved boyfriend, actually." He pauses. "I do still show up drunk to practice, though. On occasion," he grins. He takes a sip of coffee. "Old habits die hard, yunno?"

Tyra laughs and shakes her head. She raises her mug. "To old habits dyin' hard."

They both turn their heads as Lyla stumbles into the kitchen, half-awake. Her hair is a mess. She's rubbing her eyes. "Hi," she mumbles.

"Hi there," Tyra says.

Lyla walks over to Tim and puts her head against his chest.

"Morning," he murmurs, kissing her head and moving her hair off of her face. Lyla raises her head up and yawns, looking around her. She catches Tyra's eye and smiles wanly. Tyra smiles back and looks away. She's always uncomfortable being in the middle of other people's private moments. Tim and Lyla? Particularly so.

Tim fishes out a glass from one of the cabinets and fills it with water. He hands it to Lyla wordlessly. He pulls a bottle of Advil out of the same cabinet and dumps a couple in his hand, cupping her hand and placing them into it.

Lyla swallows the Advil and gulps some water. "Hi Tyra," she says. "Do you - have you eaten?"

Tyra holds up her bagel.

"Great," Lyla murmurs. "That was fun. Last night," she looks at Tyra. "This morning? Not so much . . . . Tim - did you make . . . oh, great, coffee," she wanders over to the coffee machine and pulls out another mug, pouring herself a cup. She sighs. "I feel like a truck ran over me."

"My girlfriend, the drunk," Tim grins, leaning back against the counter.

Lyla wrinkles her nose. "I am never drinking again."

Tim and Tyra both laugh.

"Seriously," Lyla groans. She looks around. "I am . . . so . . . I think I'm going back to bed," she says.

"No, no," Tim says quickly. "You have things to do today. Your dad? Little Buddy? Remember?"

"Ugh," Lyla groans again.

"Yeah, that's right," Tim raises an eyebrow. "Chop chop, Garrity," he grins.

"What's going on?" Tyra asks.

"My dad," Lyla sighs. "My brother is visiting. Family bonding day," she rolls her eyes.

"What exactly do you have planned for family bonding day?" Tyra looks amused.

"Who knows?" Lyla rolls her eyes. "Lunch. Something at the club. Sitting around lecturing my brother on the dangers of tofu. And Northern California . . . I imagine." She rubs her eyes. "Tim? Please? Please?" she looks at him with puppy dog eyes. "Pretty please?"

"Nope," Tim is grinning. "Your dad would kill me. You know how important this is to him. You. Mr. Garrity. Little Buddy. C'mon, it'll be great," he laughs. "Besides, Billy and I have plans. We're building a shed. Over at his place. For the little ones."

"Ugh," Lyla sighs again. "Can I come?" she asks hopefully.

"Nope," Tim puts his arms around her and kisses her nose. "-You- are going to 'bond' - I'll meet y'all for dinner. Six-thirty, I think."

"Right," Lyla grumbles, poking him. "Six-thirty. Don't be late."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he grins.


	21. Chapter 21

"Dad, can we - can I just sit by the pool instead? I hate golf."

"Lyla," Buddy sighs, "Today is family bonding day. And since I get to choose the family bonding activity, I choose golf. Right, Buddy Jr.?"

"Right, Dad," Buddy Jr. rolls his eyes at Lyla. Lyla smirks.

"Comeon kids, this is gonna be great - I got my clubs, my little girl, even my son here for the weekend," he breaks into a broad grin as he throws an arm around Buddy Jr. "So let's just - let's just enjoy ourselves, okay?"

"Right," Lyla mutters, stepping out of the golf cart and squinting into the sunshine. She makes a mental note for the next family bonding outing that three bottles of wine and sunshine do not mix.

"So, Buddy - did you tell your sister here that you're gonna be playin' football come fall?"

"No," Buddy mutters.

"Yeah, that's right," Buddy looks at Lyla as he pulls a club out of his bag. "Buddy here is gonna be on the ole football team up there in ole California," Buddy gestures vaguely above him.

"Great," Lyla replies unenthusiastically. "That's what we need in this family - more football."

"You're the one that keeps dating football players," Buddy Jr. retorts. "Think you'd be happier about that news."

"I don't -keep- dating football players," Lyla snaps. "I date one football player. One. And why should I be happy that you're probably going to end up spending the next two years of high school in a drunken haze?"

"Well, if I'd known that -that- was what football was all about, I'd have joined the team years ago. But I guess I'd need to have spent more time with Riggins and his buddies to understand what makes a successful football player. Lots of beer and sex," he grins.

Lyla glares at her brother. "Buddy, you don't have a clue -"

"I don't have a clue? Dillon's a small town. I think we -all- know how much Riggins got around. Before you, that is," he smiles sweetly at his sister. "If he's not still getting around at San Antonio State. If I were Tim Riggins, I'd definitely still be getting around."

"Enough," Buddy interrupts, glaring at Buddy Jr. with a warning edge in his tone. "Enough, Buddy Jr. Lyla. Both of you. We're tryin' to have a good day here, not a . . . brawl."

"It's not my fault," Lyla pouts. "He's being a jerk."

"And you're a snotty bitch," Buddy Jr. retorts.

"Enough," Buddy repeats, his voice booming, cutting through their argument.

Lyla glares at Buddy Jr. silently, before turning her eyes to her father, who drives his golf ball from the tee deep into the green. Buddy smiles with satisfaction, and steps aside for Buddy Jr.

"So why doesn't Emily have to be here?" Buddy Jr. complains, stepping up the tee and dropping in his golf ball.

Buddy's smile immediately disappears. "You know that wasn't up to me, son. If she has a soccer game she has a soccer game, yunno? Your mom didn't want her missing a game. She'll visit when she can."

"Right," Buddy Jr. mutters, as he takes a swing. He watches as the ball cuts through the air and lands on the green next to his father's ball. "Let's go, Lyla, you're up."

Lyla reluctantly ambles toward the tee, dropping her ball and swinging carelessly toward the green. "I really golf, Dad, have I mentioned that already?"

"Honey, now come on now, this is a good time, we're having fun here, aren't we?" He looks pleadingly at Buddy Jr. Buddy Jr. raises an eyebrow silently.

"Lyla?" Buddy turns back to Lyla. Lyla doesn't respond.

Buddy sighs again, forcefully replacing the golf club into his bag. "Now, kids, I worked really hard on this day - I wanted to make it special for us. Can't we just have fun here?"

"Dad, I'm exhausted," Lyla says. "Can't I just go home and sleep? Why does it matter anyway? We're having dinner together tonight."

"Why does it matter?" Buddy explodes. "Why does it matter, Lyla? I'll tell you why it matters - I'll tell you both why it matters," he glares at Lyla and then shifts his glare toward Buddy Jr. "It -matters- because I never get to spend time with y'all anymore. You," he points at Buddy accusingly, "you don't live here anymore and never come visit me and barely acknowledge your ole dad at all anymore. How many Christmases have we spent together since you moved to California? Thanksgivings? Summers? I'll tell you exactly how many: a big fat zero," Buddy spits out angrily. "That - that - tofu-eater over there in California has completely taken over my place in your life. And the fact that you don't come to me for advice anymore - not even about football. -Football,- son. I just can't believe it's gotten to that. That you can't talk to your daddy about the most important thing on the planet. And then there's the fact that your little sister doesn't even want to come visit me at all. Barely acknowledges me. Her daddy," he whimpers.

Buddy Jr. and Lyla both look stunned.

The words continue to spill from Buddy. "And you," Buddy continues, turning and pointing at Lyla with the same accusing finger, "My precious little Lyla - you act like you're too good for this place now, like you don't even want to be here with your daddy anymore, like you can't spend one day on the golf course with me because you're just -so- busy, far too busy to spend time with lil' ole me. Since you've been home this summer, you've spent the entire time either moping around about Tim Riggins or planning your move to Austin with Tim Riggins. You haven't spent more than five minutes with me - with me - just talkin', like old times. It's all about Tim Riggins and Austin and getting out of Dillon as fast as possible. Now I -know- that I didn't send my little girl off to Vanderbilt just so you could come back here and turn your nose up at everything - and everyone - that brought you up."

Buddy pauses and looks at his children, both of whom are staring at him with wide eyes. Neither of them are complaining now.

"So, if I want to spend one afternoon - one lousy afternoon - playing golf and pretending that we're one big happy family, then goddamn it, do me that favor, will y'all?"

Lyla and Buddy Jr. look at each other and then back at their father, nodding quietly. Lyla swallows hard and grabs her club. "Whose turn is it?" she asks, with forced brightness.

"I think we're up, son," Buddy nods and plasters a smile back onto his face.

"Right," Buddy Jr. scurries toward the green. "Right."


	22. Chapter 22

When Buddy Garrity opens the door for Tim later that evening, he looks tired. The early brightness of the day has lost its sheen.

"Hi, Mr. Garrity," Tim stands on the other side of the doorway, smiling respectfully at him. Like always.

Buddy can't remember anymore how long it's been since Tim became a permanent fixture at his front door, when he finally stopped wondering who was on the other side of that door, when he finally gave up hope that one day it wouldn't be Tim.

And, of course, over the years, his grudging acceptance of Tim has become slightly less grudging. Lyla's always seemed happier with Tim around. And there's the fact that Tim didn't get her pregnant in high school, which, of course, had always been Buddy's ultimate fear, one heightened by the fact that Lyla had started sleeping with the bruising fullback at a time when his prior sexual exploits were just short of legendary. Then there's the fact that Tim ultimately proved himself to be a loyal boyfriend, much to Buddy's chagrin at the time. And it's obvious even to Buddy that Tim loves her like nothing else. Even more than football. Like Buddy loved Pam. This, of course, means something to Buddy. And, if he's honest with himself, he knows that this kid - the young man smiling at him across the threshold - is not the same kid he picked up, more than once, as a hung-over sophomore after practice. He's not that lost kid anymore. He's found something in these last several years. He's found peace. He's grown up.

"Hi, Tim," Buddy steps aside for him.

Lyla's eyes light up as Tim walks through the door. She hugs him tightly, as her father heads back to the kitchen to finish up with dinner.

"Everything okay?" Tim murmurs into her hair.

"Long day," she responds quietly, still in his arms.

"Hi, Little Man," Tim throws a casual grin at Lyla's younger brother when he finally releases her.

"Hi Tim," Buddy Jr. looks up from the television at his older sister's boyfriend. Almost shyly. The bravado he shows around Lyla vanishes. His childhood memories of Tim come with a hefty dose of Dillon Panther hero worship.

"Been a long time," Tim throws himself down onto a lounge chair across from Buddy Jr. Lyla sits back down on the couch next to her brother and picks up her wine glass.

"Yeah. I'm not little anymore," Buddy Jr. offers.

"Right," Tim agrees. "There's that. How you been?"

"Okay, I guess," Buddy Jr. shrugs. "Weird bein' back here."

"Right," Tim nods casually, his eyes moving to the television screen.

"So, when are you headed back to San Antonio State?" Buddy Jr. asks.

"Beginning of August," Tim responds absently, his eyes now moving toward Buddy in the kitchen, who is pulling out some beer from the fridge and holding it out toward Tim.

Tim gets up from his chair and accepts a bottle of beer from Buddy - "Thanks, Mr. Garrity" - before heading back to the living room.

"Did Buddy Jr. tell you he's joining the team this year, Tim?" Buddy calls from the kitchen as he pulls several dinner plates from the cabinet.

"Yeah?" Tim raises an eyebrow and grins at Buddy Jr.

Buddy Jr. shrugs sheepishly. "Goin' out for the team, anyway. I'm not on it yet, Dad."

"You're a Garrity," Buddy responds jovially. "Football is in your blood, son. They'll want you. You better believe it, they will," he steps into the small dining/ living area and starts setting the table.

"Need help, Dad?" Lyla immediately offers.

"No, I'm fine, honey," Buddy smiles at her. "You just stay right where you are."

"So, what position are you gonna play?" Tim asks Buddy Jr. as he raises the beer bottle to his lips.

"I guess whatever they let me play," Buddy Jr. responds. Self-consciously. "Lyla thinks it's crap."

"She does, does she?" Tim grins, glancing over at his girlfriend, as she rolls her eyes and takes a sip of wine.

"Yeah. Something about how all football players are drunks," Buddy Jr. pokes his sister.

"Only some of us, actually," Tim replies, his eyes twinkling. "Also, the drunk ones get the hottest chicks."

"Yeah, I'll need some tips on that front," Buddy Jr. smirks.

"Okay, this is getting more than slightly gross," Lyla intervenes.

"What's it like playing college ball, anyway?" Buddy Jr. ignores Lyla, watching as Tim twirls his beer bottle in amusement.

"It's . . . different," Tim pauses as he reflects on the question. "More like a job - curfew and six a.m's and guys anglin' for the pros. It's not like it was back at Dillon, yunno That team - man - we were brothers. San Antonio - it's okay. But not like the Panthers. Nothin' will ever be like the Panthers."

"Yeah," Buddy Jr. looks at Tim. Wistfully. "It's not like that at home. My dad - he sometimes talks about . . . comin' here. Tryin' to play for the Panthers. But I'd never make it here. There, I have a shot, I guess."

"Buddy, you're talkin' nonsense, son," Buddy Garrity deposits a large bowl of mashed potatoes on the dining table. "You'd have more than a shot here. You forget who you are. Who your daddy is, son."

Tim smiles as he looks down at his beer bottle. He is silent as he listens to Buddy Garrity prattle on about the magical qualities of Dillon Panther football and how Buddy Jr. would benefit - mightily - from moving back into town with his ole dad to experience some of that Panther magic.

"I mean, Tim Riggins is here for another bit here, right, Tim?" Buddy is saying. Tim looks up. He's not sure exactly what Buddy is saying. "You'd be able to throw the ole ball around with Buddy Jr., show him some pointers, right, son?" Buddy is looking at Tim expectantly.

Tim looks at Lyla, who gives him an amused shrug. "Uh, sure, Mr. Garrity," Tim looks back at Buddy Garrity. "I could, um, I could -"

"Dad," Buddy Jr. glares at his father. "It's cool, Tim, I mean, no worries. My dad is just - I'm not - totally not prepared to -"

"Don't be ridiculous, son," Buddy Garrity snaps at his son. "Of course you're prepared. And you could certainly benefit from a little one-on-one with one of -the- most talented fullbacks ever to take the field at Dillon, right? With a former Texas State champion? With a D. One starting -collegiate- football player? I mean, what's wrong with you, son? What the hell else is the point of keeping Tim Riggins around if he can't share some football tips with you?"

Tim grins at Lyla. "Thanks, Mr. Garrity," he says drily.

"You know what I mean, son," Buddy turns to Tim with a warm smile. "I think you could be real good for Buddy Jr. here. Spend a little time with him, will you? Tomorrow? Hermann Field? It'll be just like old times, son."

Tim looks at Buddy Jr., who's staring at the floor. He looks back at Buddy Garrity. "Sure, Mr. Garrity - tomorrow will be just fine. You and me, Little Man, whadda ya say?"

"Seriously?" Buddy Jr. looks at Tim. Hopefully.

Tim sighs. "Seriously," he responds, as if he can't quite believe it himself.

After dinner Tim grabs Lyla's hand and heads to the door. "I think I'm going to stay here, actually," Lyla says to him as they pause by the front door. Her father and brother are stretched out in front of the television, engrossed in Sports Center.

Tim furrows his brows questioningly as they reach the door.

"I should," Lyla says quietly, opening the door and stepping outside with him, easing it closed behind them. "It's - they're - he's leaving in a couple days, and my dad . . . he's just been . . . We'll talk about it tomorrow."

"Okay, whatever you want," Tim says, touching her cheek with his hand. "You're okay?"

"I'm okay," Lyla smiles warmly at him. "I'm just - family bonding night and all."

"You're really takin' that to heart, huh?" Tim grins at her.

Lyla laughs softly. "Something like that. See you tomorrow morning? Hermann Field?" her eyes twinkle as she looks up at him.

"Right," Tim gives her his patented lopsided 'feel sorry for me' grin. "Little Man. Football. Can't wait."

Lyla punches his arm lightly. "Hey. I haven't seen you in action in a while. I kind of miss it. It's actually kind of hot," she whispers into his ear.

"Do you still have that old cheerleading outfit? 'Cause that's kind of hot."

"Don't push your luck," Lyla warns him teasingly.

Tim laughs. "G'night, Garrity," he kisses her lightly.

He opens the door and pops his head in momentarily. "G'night, Mr. Garrity, Buddy. Thanks again for dinner. See y'all later."


	23. Chapter 23

**{{Note: Thanks so much for reading and all of the support I've gotten on this; everyone is very kind! In truth, while I started with a plan for a condensed story, I long since finished that story, and at this point, I don't know where this thing is going, as I've added far more than I originally intended. I do, however, think that Tim Riggins deserves a college graduation.}}**

The ball hits him in the chest and he's running. It's so natural. It feels so good. He blocks out everything else around him - the noise, the people, everything - and just runs; he's running like his life depends on it. Out of the corner of his eye, there's a block - that's it - he knows that's it. When he crosses into the end zone - that stark white line that has meant so much to him his whole damn life - there's a feeling of bliss. There's nothing that feels like this. Nothing. The pureness, the clarity that -this- is what matters. That nothing matters on the field but this. He hears a whistle; he feels arms around him, someone is jumping on his back. He feels himself break into a smile. This is what the game is about. This has always been what the game is about.

He looks up at the stands. Thousands of fans. Screaming. Roaring. He will miss this. Coaching - it's the next best thing. A natural fit, Coach Taylor told him this past summer in Austin, watching Tim with approval as he worked with TMU's offensive line. "You're good at this, son," Coach T had said, with obvious pride in his voice. "You're good." And Tim loved being on that field, working with guys just like him - guys he'd played against, partied with (occasionally), guys that took their keg stands as seriously as their two-a-days. Tim's kind of people. He had a way of relating to them, Coach T had told him. Not surprisingly. "Just don't drink with them, Riggins," Coach T had warned. "No drinking with the players. They're not your buddies on this field. You are a coach now. Do you want to be a coach now? Are you ready to be a coach now?" "Yes, sir," Tim had said. "Yes, sir."

Twelve months from now, on a warm Saturday in Texas, very much like this one, Tim knows that he will be standing in a stadium that looks very much like this one - maybe it will be this stadium. Twelve months from now, he will be standing on the sidelines, yelling at players, moving them in and out of the lineup, shouting numbers and plays and recommendations at several other coaches, who will be standing next to him on those sidelines. Twelve months from now, he'll be wearing a different kind of uniform, a coach's uniform, without all of the shoulder pads and the blood and sweat and bruises of sixteen hard-fought games. Twelve months from now, he'll move into new offices, with new colors, new players, new offensive schemes. Twelve months from now, he will be a rising star - *that* guy - the pride of Coach Eric Taylor, the guy Coach T had been right to take a shot on, just like he'd been right to take a shot on Tim several years earlier when he drove Tim back to San Antonio State and convinced the head coach to take another chance on the troubled fullback, despite his less-than-stellar extracurricular activities. Twelve months from now, Coach T will marvel at how far Tim has come - how much he has achieved - since his drunken playing days at Dillon High. Twelve months from now, Tim knows that he will be good at this job. He will be fucking great at this job.

But, today, he's not Coach Riggins. Today, Tim Riggins is the starting senior fullback at San Antonio State who has just scored a touchdown. Today, he gets to live out one final season of glory. Today, right now, right here - this joy, the pure joy that comes with all of this - the roars of the fans, the whistles of the referees, the happy slaps from bellicose teammates who will be drinking with him later tonight, the proud smiles of his family (he grins up at Lyla and Billy in the stands), and the ball - this game ball - this is his.

Twelve months from now, Tim knows that his life will be different. He knows that he will experience new joys, different joys. He is at peace with this future. But, right now, right here, there is nothing else.

Today, I am Tim Riggins, Number 33, of the San Antonio State Wildcats.


End file.
